


Chase

by Fangirlinit



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:49:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7160954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlinit/pseuds/Fangirlinit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a near death collision with her stalker, Regina and Henry take shelter with Emma. Being confined to the apartment is a nightmare in every sense of the word as Regina experiences past fears of being imprisoned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one has been collecting dust since 2014, so I'll be updating the tags/warnings as I post.

If it were not for the fact that Regina loved her son dearly, the noise of heavy metal would have been cut off and replaced by smoky jazz vocals.  

“Do I want to know who introduced this musical education to you?”

“Probably not,” Henry replied idly. He continued to look out the moving vehicle and bob his head to the tunes.

Regina had to admit she was proud of her son. After saving Storybrooke from a nuclear diamond, Emma and Regina had become tolerant of each other. He had taken it well for it surely was not easy being passed back and forth between two people he loved. They had agreed upon a schedule to move Henry between them, Emma had the weekends and Regina the weekdays (because only she could get Henry to school on time).

For a boy of eleven he was good at sensing a brewing fight. That was the Henry she raised, though: attentive and always seeing what others could not. Despite his parents insistence that all was well between them Henry constantly acted as referee. It saddened Regina that it came to that. It was the parents who were the caregivers and the teachers, not the children.

Hands on the wheel, Regina turned to her son who was mouthing the lyrics Emma had taught him. Henry knew her so well and even loved her enough to spare her the grief of hearing the name of his musical educator. Not too long ago Regina had done the same, but for different reasons. Regina kept secrets that were hers and hers alone. She was selfish enough to keep them from her own boy under the assumption that she was protecting him. Even after curses’ end and a nuclear disaster averted, the former queen was still not without her secrets. Henry had them too, but they were not just his to keep. And he was not as selfish as his mother because he was protecting not only himself but the two women in his life that meant more to him than any song could describe.

Regina reached over the car console for Henry’s hand and clasped it in hers. “How about when we get home I’ll treat you to some ice cream?”

“Really?”

Regina nodded with a smile.

“Not that frozen yogurt stuff, right?”

“I think I have some of that real ice cream tucked away somewhere,” Regina replied chuckling at her son’s cringe, “for special nights like this.”

“What’s special about tonight?”

“Every night is when I have you all to myself.” Regina smiled and squeezed his hand.

It was Friday, the last day mother and son had together before he was off to Emma’s for the weekend. Regina drove the Mercedes at the speed limit as they made their way home through the dark. Just then a flashing of headlights speared from behind. Regina squinted at the rearview mirror filled with bright light.

“Who is that, Mom?”

Right hand joining the left on the wheel, Regina tightened her grip on the leather and straightened in her seat. “I don’t know,” she responded warily.

Regina could hear the car’s engine as it came closer and closer. Soon it was near enough that they were being tailgated. The headlights flashed again, signaling her to pull off the road. No chance in hell, Regina thought. Not with her son in the car with her.

“Mom…?”

“Henry,” Regina said firmly but soft enough not to frighten the boy, “hand me my cell phone.”

He dug the phone from her purse and handed it over. “Who are you going to call?”

Brown eyes shifting from the side mirror to the road, she pushed speed dial and prayed for the other line to answer. Her foot pressed the gas pedal, but the mysterious car was hot on their trail. Up ahead the Toll Bridge sign was illuminated by the lights of her Mercedes. Regina swallowed hard and her heart sped up well above its limit.

Henry turned in his seat to get a good look but all he was met with was a blinding light. Like any son of the Savior and Evil Queen he searched around for a weapon, a distraction, anything that would get the car off their tail. When he didn’t find anything he realized that this was not some page in his story book. He and his mom were in serious danger and in the middle of Storybrooke on a dark and deserted road. Where was the Savior when you needed her?

“Emma!” came the shout from beside him. Henry whirled his head around, presuming from the shout that his other mom had swooped in on the back of a dragon and was waving her sword in the air. There was no such thing.

“Emma, Henry and I are being chased and headed for Toll Bridge.” She squinted ahead as the squawking sounded from the receiver. “Well, if you’re on patrol then hurry –“

The Mercedes jolted violently as the black car rear ended them and sent the phone sailing from Regina’s hand. With one grip on the wheel she braced Henry against his seat with her right arm. She could hear the frantic screaming of her name over the screeching tires. With a few quick corrections of the wheel they missed the bridge’s rail by mere centimeters.

“Where’s Emma?!” Henry screamed wildly.

“She’s – I lost the phone below my seat,” Regina said, her voice and entire body trembling from the near miss at the bridge. “She’s coming, Henry. Emma’s coming. I promise.”

With a few surprise maneuvers Regina was able to get some distance between the two cars. Swerving right and then left the black car still kept up, its headlights never losing their target. Soon they heard the wail of a siren. Regina had never been so happy to hear the sound.

Regina and Henry looked at their mirrors just in time to see the sheriff hurtling towards them at Nascar speed. With siren blaring and a search light burning a brilliant white light ahead, the cruiser was on the mystery car like white on rice. Regina watched as their pursuer raced past them and disappeared in the distant fog.

The Mercedes was still ripping down the street. Henry patted the arm still braced to his chest. “Mom,” he exclaimed. Regina just stared ahead, eyes glistening and chest heaving. He shook the hand clutching at his sweatshirt. “Pull over to the side of the road. It’s over, Mom.”

Mere seconds after coming to a halt the passenger door was ripped open and Henry let out a scream.

“You okay, kid?” his savior asked breathlessly. Before Henry could get a word in edge wise, his birth mother wrenched him from his seat in one swift move. She didn’t let go through the fierce hug, burying her face in his neck. Henry could have sworn he heard a sob. “God, you scared me half to death! You’re not hurt, are you? Did the seat belt bruise you or anything? Does your neck feel stiff? Any lightheadedness? Headache? Backache?”

Batting down the hysterical hands Henry grasped his mother’s shoulders and stated, “I’m not hurt. It was just a fender bender, Ma.”

Emma sighed heavily, relieved at the confirmation that her son escaped unscathed. She brushed her thumbs across the brave face of her son. “You’re such an adult, you know that? If I were you I’d be freaking out.”

“Not likely,” Henry said matter-of-factly. “You’ve faced a dragon, ogres, zombies, and my mom’s wrath. A little jolt in a car would have been a piece of cake.”

Still on her knees Emma saw the driver through the open car door. Regina was still belted in with hands firmly to the wheel and staring into the windshield. “Regina…” she breathed out.

Emma pushed Henry towards the cruiser ordering him to buckle in. Rounding the Mercedes she approached the driver’s side and carefully opened the door.

The worst was over. In fact, all signs of danger had passed considering the culprit was gone and the sheriff had arrived on the scene. It was over, but Regina had yet to take note of the fact. Her hands were welded to the steering wheel and her back was molded to the seat. There was a slight tremble to her frame despite her braced position. Once Emma spied the bobbing of a throat and watery eyes she almost burst into tears as well.

Crouched beside the woman Emma grasped the car’s frame with one hand and began with something simple. “Regina? Are you alright?”

There was no comment.

“Regina,” she tried again a little louder, “it’s Emma. Are you hurt?”

Frozen to her seat Regina heard the faint whisper of someone’s name. “Emma?” she croaked.

“Yeah,” came the reply. Regina shook her head to rid the lingering siren from her mind. She heard the calming voice again. “It’s me Emma, your neighborhood friendly sheriff.”

It was enough to get her blood pumping and her neurons firing.

“Sheriff, I called you five minutes ago! What was keeping you?!”

“Okay,” Emma hid her grin and muttered, “I think she’s back in commission.” She unclasped the belt with one hand and slipped the other behind the woman’s back. “Come on.”

A hand swiped at air in a delayed reaction.

“I do not need your assistance.”

“Yeah,” Emma mumbled, “sure thing,” and proceeded to help the traumatized queen out of her carriage.

* * *

“Hey, have you been playing my Mario Cart lately? Those were some sick moves out there!”

“Henry, this is not something to joke about. Do you understand that we could have been killed? I could have lost you.”

Safe and sound in Emma’s apartment Henry had not been let go by Regina since leaving the scene. Getting the same treatment he received from his other mother, Henry succumbed to yet another body check. Regina’s hands continued to run over his body, inspecting for cuts and bruises and smoothing down the wrinkles of his clothes like they were a hazard to his health. While Emma gave up the instant Henry shrugged off the pat down Regina didn’t let go so easily.

“Mom, relax.” The eleven-year-old rolled his eyes to the fussing. “Seriously, though, where did you learn how to drive like that?”

“Yeah,” Emma piped up after closing the front door, “where did you get those mad skills, Miss Grand Theft Auto?”

Regina stood from her crouch, a hand still on Henry’s shoulder. “I own a Mercedes. And I know how to drive it,” she declared as if that was all that needed to be said. “Speaking of, why did we simply leave my priceless car on the side of the road? There are vandals out there!” Regina waved a hand dramatically.

“Also, your stalker,” Emma added with an arched brow.

It wasn’t said out of spite. She knew the situation was as hard on Regina as it was on her. Over the months since Regina and Emma saved Storybrooke the entire townspeople had divided into camps. Some like Emma, Henry, David, Ruby, and Archie had accepted the former queen into their lives, perhaps into their hearts. Henry liked to call themselves Team Evil Queen. There were others like Mary Margaret, Granny, and Leroy who have tolerated her presence but wouldn’t touch the question of forgiveness with a ten foot pole. Their group was dubbed Team On the Fence. Then there were those who still called for Regina’s blood. That camp earned the title Team Witch Hunters though Emma begged everyone to keep that particular label on the down low in front of Regina.

The sheriff’s station had its hands full for a while, giving strict warning to the pranksters and actually arresting some citizens on the count of harassment. There was also an occurrence by the one “Mr. M” whom Regina had been receiving ominous notes of intimidation. After a few weeks the stalker seemed to back off, and the death threats had waned. It seemed like Regina was in the clear – until the car incident.

Regina stiffened at the mention of her prowler. Her jaw clenched, thinking of some deranged peasant harming her son. Forget her own life; she would be damned to Wonderland before anyone so much as touched a hair on her little boy’s head.

Noticing the significantly darker hue to the beautiful brown eyes, Emma diverted the subject. “I’ll call Michael first thing in the morning and have your baby towed back to the mansion.”

“Tell him to fix the rear bumper. And if I see one scratch…”

Emma nodded. “I’ll relay the message.” Letting out a sigh she wearily pressed the heel of her wrist to her forehead. “All right, kid, your room is waiting for you. I’d suggest getting some sleep. Go on. Vamanos!” She turned to Regina and said, “My parents moved out weeks ago, but there’s still a bed and the works.”

“I hope you are not suggesting what I think you are suggesting,” Regina said, her voice residing at a dangerously low level. Fists went to her hips and she seemed to rise a foot taller. “The Evil Queen does not slumber in the bed of Snow White and Prince Charming. It is unheard of, not to mention unsanitary.”

“Yeah,” Emma smirked, rubbing the back of her neck, “I wouldn’t want to either. You can sleep in my room, then.”

“Excuse me?” Regina’s head practically jerked off her neck. “Absolutely not.”

“Listen, the couch isn’t ideal. It’s as narrow as a skateboard and the cushions have lost their poof. And I think I almost snapped my neck on the armrest once. I know how you like your beauty sleep…” Emma’s cheeks suddenly reddened over what she just said, so she sputtered out, “I mean, I’m sure your standards are pretty high. For what you sleep on. And all that jazz, so, ah… all righty then. I’m going to shut up. Feel free to jump in at any time.”

Her lips twitched until a smirk surfaced. “Why would I when you are on a roll? The logic of your argument is _astounding_.” Regina ended on theatrically widened eyes.

“Whatever. What’s it going to be, Regina? The Charming marital bed or the White Knight’s crib?”

“I’d rather sleep in a boiling bed of acid.”

“The crib it is, then. Do you take one or two pillows?”

“Go to hell,” grumbled Regina before turning on a heel and slamming Emma’s bedroom door behind her.

Seconds later as Emma was getting the couch prepared she could hear the faint sound of revulsion. It occurred to her that she had forgotten to clean her room before nightly patrol and going on a high speed chase through Storybrooke.

Oh well.

* * *

A pair of bright yellow beams sliced through the thickening fog. The black car navigated along the trail until it crested the highest hill of the forest. When the engine was cut off, the dying rumble of the motor made room for the echoes of hooting owls.

The driver who went by the name Mr. M slipped from the car and slammed the door shut. He gazed at his surroundings, taking in any sounds that shouldn’t be in the forest. A clanking of keys resonated as his fingers fiddled with them, jimmying one out from the ring. He threw it into the backseat, unconcerned where it landed.

His rugged, steel-toed boots made soggy prints in the dirt, pressing leaves into the earth and leaving ominous prints behind. He scratched his chin as he studied the back end of his car. After a few good rolls of his shoulder he crouched down, braced the very same shoulder into the bumper, and pushed.

The calm of the lake became disturbed by a great force of man’s invention as the heaping car made splash down. Before it reached the bottom the car leveled out, bobbing just above the surface. Water bubbled and frothed around the severe edges of its roof and made a moist sucking sound as it swallowed the car whole.

Mr. M watched from atop the hill as the ripples dissipated. The shadow disappeared beneath the surface to its watery grave, the last air bubbles released in parting. As expected, Storybrooke’s one and only lake accepted the evidence greedily and left no traces behind.


	2. Chapter 2

She realized it wasn’t her bed when the comforter came in contact with her bare ankle. Unlike her satin duvet, this fabric underneath her felt itchy and smelled of cheap detergent.

With a disgusted scowl she threw the blanket to the side and stared open mouthed at the not-so-queenly bed. It took a few seconds, but the memories of the previous night surfaced: heavy metal on the radio… planning ice cream with Henry… Regina squeezed her eyes shut at the image of bright lights in her rearview mirror and nearly jumped off the bed when she remembered the jarring her Mercedes sustained as it made its way over the Toll Bridge. She remembered the blaring sirens and screeching tires. Emma had taken her and Henry to her apartment, they had bickered, and before Regina finally let sleep take her she made sure not to touch the used linens. It all explained why Regina was laying on top of a scratchy comforter in Emma Swan’s room. What was not explained was the strong aroma of pancakes.

Henry’s eyes lit up at the sight of his mother entering the kitchen. “Mornimph Mommh!”

“What did I tell you about talking with your mouth full?”

The scolding came not from Regina but from Emma whose back was turned. The cast iron pan clanked against the stove coils and a delicious sizzle resulted.

“Breakfast at 11:30,” Regina stated dryly. “How charming.”

Looking over her shoulder, Emma gave a playful glare. “I’m not the one who slept in.”

“Who said I was asleep?” Regina took the stool beside Henry, but not before kissing the crown of his head and wishing a soft “good morning.”

“I guess that means you won’t be wanting these golden brown pancakes and crispy, artery clogging strips of bacon.”

Regina couldn’t stop the hurt expression forming on her face. A pity she wasn’t awake enough to make a few threats in order to get her food. Breakfast at any time of day was a god given right, after all.

“Calm down,” Emma said with a grin, “you’ll get your food. Those puppy eyes are worse than Henry’s.”

“Heeey!”

“Sorry, kid. You two share some serious quirks. Not that the puppy thing isn’t cute. You gotta milk what you got, ain’t that right Miss Grand Theft Auto?”

Drawing a blank stare, Regina was too held up on “cute” to answer.

“Henry said pancakes were your favorite,” Emma continued with one hand on her hip and the other waving around the spatula, “which is a good thing because my mom left the pancake mix. And I think you’ll be surprised by our choice of syrup. When it comes to sugary breakfasts we spare no expense on the best maple syrup this state has to offer.”

Regina’s heart smiled at the thought, but it immediately was tamped down when Emma turned from the stove. The plate dropped heavily to her place setting, a testament to the number of cakes loaded on it. There was a gleam in her brown eyes as she beheld the meal. It looked picture perfect and about as delicious as her first experience with the meal. She inhaled the smell of bacon and the lightly sweet, vanilla scent of unburned pancakes. Her mouth watered.

It had been a while since Regina treated herself to something this decadent. Whether blamed on a hectic schedule that never seemed to be that hectic or the simple fact that she didn’t deserve it, Regina had forgotten the simple things that made her smile. She still was unsure if this was a reward worthy of her deeds, but to be offered something she loved by someone she maybe didn’t hate as much as before (and without having to ask or beg or threaten their destruction) and to share it with her son was something special. Joy exploded within her and she almost forgot herself. However, before diving in for a shameless forkful Regina was interrupted by “The Plan.”

“Seeing as I’m sheriff,” Emma began, “I think it’s up to me to plan a course of action. First off, we can all agree what happened last night could have been a lot worse. Not to dwell on the negative, but you two could have sustained serious injuries if I hadn’t come when I did. You both should be lucky to be alive.”

Regina squirmed in her seat. She was not at all comfortable being talked down to like a delinquent child before the principal. However, she let it go upon seeing Emma’s determination. She was much more interested in how this take charge sheriff act played out.

Hands on the counter Emma eyed each of them sternly. “With that said I don't think either of you should be seen on the streets until further notice. The priority is to remain safely indoors.”

“I agree with Miss Swan. Henry, we shall go home and stay there until the situation is under control.”

“And I’m going to have to disagree.” Emma tilted her head regretfully. She didn’t want to make it any crueler for Regina than it had to be. Her sympathy, she knew, would be thrown back in her face, but she tried all the same. “Your house is too obvious. It’s the first place he would try. Also, we already know he got into your place the last time after that mysterious note showed up in your study; therefore, Mifflin Street is not the safest place for you now. I suggest staying here at my place.”

Thankfully there was no pancake to choke on considering Regina was about to strangle herself over her own air. “You cannot be serious! Everyone including my stalker knows you are Henry’s other parent. Living here will be just as obvious.”

“Listen, I know it’s not ideal and it probably doesn’t make as much sense, but I’m the god damned sheriff of this town. No one would dare break into my own apartment when they know I’m armed and have latent magical tendencies!”

“Just like no one would dare tap your office? Or plant weapons in your apartment floorboards?”

“Oh, come on, Regina,” Emma scoffed angrily, “that was you! We are talking about some coward who scribbles notes and –“

“A coward who almost ran our son off a bridge! Wouldn’t you say that is the act of a dangerous individual?”

“I want to keep an eye on you in case you do something stupid. Why can’t you trust me?”

“ _Really_ , dear. After you just called me stupid?”

“Please stop!” Henry shouted. He looked from one mother who was off her stool with hands clenched at her sides to his other mother leaning far enough over the counter to reach over for a queenly neck. “While you guys are fighting the bad guy is out there planning his next move.” He motioned with a finger towards the door as if the culprit was at their doorstep already. He sighed and implored Regina, “Mom, Emma’s right. Home is too big and has way too many places for someone like Mr. M to hide. The mansion isn’t safe, but it is here. I’ve lived here enough to know that. If you don’t trust Emma, trust _me_.”

While Emma was left to feel the stab of “home’s” destination, Regina stared in fascination. He was right, of course, and she would not repeat past mistakes by ignoring his judgment. The sight of her boy so brave and sure made the air hitch in her lungs. She touched his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Okay, sweetheart.” It was all she could muster in that moment – that and a watery smile.

With that the boy turned to his other mother and gave her a tad harsher treatment. “You could give my mom some slack. She isn’t used to people taking care of her. And it doesn’t help that her only alternative is hiding out at her former enemies’ home.”

Emma nodded, suddenly hit with a heavy brand of humiliation.

“I’m going to my room now. I need to find those battle plans I made a while back.”

They stared after their son with hearts aching and thinking of their experiences with parents – Regina realizing she never once stood up for her parents like Henry did for his and Emma musing on the fact that she didn’t have any parental experience that would explain her son’s standup behavior.

“He is taking this all too well.”

“Yeah,” Emma said, nibbling at her lip and staring at anything besides Regina, “it almost worries me.” After a stretch of silence and no eye contact Emma dared to make a veiled suggestion. “Your pancakes are getting cold.”

“I’m not hungry,” came the quick reply.

Green eyes rolled. The dials of the stove were cranked off and the pan ended up in the sink – loudly. Always having been more of a procrastinator, she let the dishware soak in the sink. She found Regina still standing, staring at thin air, and arms crossed like the world had wronged her.

“There’s only one shower,” Emma explained stiffly, “so Henry and I would appreciate it if you used the hot water sparingly. Also, the laundry is on the main floor if you want to clean some clothes and sheets you might find beneath your godly standards. It’s two floors down so you’ll get a work out.”

“What about all my clothes? My cosmetics?” Regina looked around and then leaned forward. Her voice dropped to a hiss. “My feminine products?”

“And I don’t have those things?” Emma asked offended. “Give me a little credit. I’m not a barbarian.”

“That’s debatable.”

“This is perfect. I saved lives and now I’m being harassed.”

“My life did not need saving, Miss Swan.”

“Want to say that again?” Emma asked, crossing her arms defiantly. “This time put Henry in that sentence.”

Regina’s shoulders as well as her eyes dipped significantly. She grabbed a hold of her elbows in a protective embrace.

“What was that?” Emma asked after the mumbling.

A heel stamped and a pair of brown eyes roved in a reluctant arch. When they landed on green she replied with exasperation, “I said, ‘Thank you!’ Thank you for saving mine and Henry’s lives. Are you going to rub this in my face forever, dear?”

“I will if you keep scuffing my kitchen floor with those Jimmy Choo’s,” came the smirk-filled reply.

Regina blew out a rage-filled sigh, turned, and stalked away. “I absolutely loath it here!” she screeched, plowing her heels into the floor. Purposely, of course.

“It hasn’t been 24 hours,” Emma muttered. “Fuck my life.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of child psychological trauma.

For Henry the past few days were akin to supervised vacation. He was able to do all the activities a boy of his age loved to take part in: video games, reading comic books, and bugging his moms about when dinner would be ready. He was quite content being cooped up in the apartment because it was technically just another one of his homes. When the curse broke and Regina went into hiding, the Charmings accepted him into their family and their two bedroom apartment. He had a room, clothes, and an assortment of books and video games. Emma’s apartment was as much his home as Regina’s mansion (with the added benefit of a lifetime supply of Pop-Tarts). Being confined to the small flat was definitely not detrimental to the boy when he had all he needed.

But this impromptu little holiday came under strict scrutiny. Regina followed him around like Peter Pan’s shadow, not letting him out of sight for as long as it took to use the bathroom. She didn’t have much to do anyway; so much of her time was spent sitting quietly or igniting long-winded conversation with her 11-year-old roommate. Henry understood why and he was lucky to have a mom that cared about his wellbeing even if it was taken to extremes. Both moms, too. Emma seemed to be extra clingy with all the severe curfews and window parameters.

It could be stressful, but Henry was happy to have both his parents in the same house. He saw what was between them. Anyone with eyes and half a brain could. Though he did not like the circumstances, he held out hope that the new living arrangements would bring Emma and Regina closer together. Henry was optimistic, considering his wishes tended to come true.

For Regina the past few days had been torture. More specifically, it was wretched punishment on her thighs. Every day she took those god forsaken steps. Up and down, up and down, up with a basket of clean clothes and down with a pile of dirty clothes. Sometimes she would have to double time it because there was a tenant in A1 who sat on the washing machine smoking a cigarette while waiting for god knows what to be cleaned. After verbally harassing the “uncouth beer-bellied fellow” on laundering decorum Regina threatened to call the superintendent. That went nowhere as the “uncouth beer-bellied fellow” _was_ the building superintendent. Since then Regina had been rising at the crack of dawn to get her laundry done before the machines were tainted by the super in A1. The whole laundry situation was absolutely deplorable, not to mention Emma didn’t have the sense to buy dryer sheets.

But there was another reason why this quarantine resembled torture.

Once upon a time Regina had been held in cages. It was either a punishment or a lesson or both. The grounds for her confinement ranged far and wide: she cracked her mother’s favorite vase, arrived home past curfew, went to the village in her riding outfit, or any number of rules broken without intent. It didn’t matter what Cora based her punishments on. There were always consequences to be paid. Regina never broke her mother’s rules on purpose. Why would she when there was a wooden pen waiting for the ingrate who misbehaved?

Her situation with Emma and Henry was slightly different, but the irony of it all did not go unnoticed. Every morning terror would take hold of her before she remembered where she was and why she was in someone else’s bedroom. Every night when she went to sleep she’d hope for sweet dreams and a wakeless night.

The day itself was an anxiety induced nightmare. Ten hours of it were spent with a child whose only prerogative was passing level 10 on the play station. There were no varied ingredients in the pantry to make a healthy meal. There wasn’t a magazine in sight and there were very few books of interest to Regina. The only thing left for a single 30-something mother to do was stew. An Evil Queen, though, would not be at a loss for things to do. Accordingly, Regina purposely scuffed her heels across the floors, pacing like a lioness, and wholly unaware what a cliché she was making out of herself.

To be honest, none of those things bothered her to the extent she thought. What did aggravate her was being left out of the investigation. She was mayor for 28 years. She knew Storybrooke like the back of her hand, and, although she was not in good standing with some citizens, she did have a few secrets tucked away for times such as this. Blackmail would be a viable option with or without a regal mayor in their midst and whether the curse remained intact or broken.

Regina had tried to sneak out several times in order to prove such a theory. Embarrassingly, all attempts at escape were thwarted. Henry had stopped her from subtly exiting the front door with his signature puppy eyes, while Emma, arms crossed and shaking her head, stared from the lawn as Regina paused, a leg dangling outside the window.

It had been 48 hours since Regina’s last attempt at breaking out of Azkaban (as Henry teasingly put it). Her recent strategy was hoped to be a work of genius. It was simple, really. After Regina confirmed Henry was knee deep in his clothes and grumbling through the hazard that was his closet, she slipped out the front door and breathed the fresh air. It smelled like freedom, until she gravely underestimated one townsperson in particular, one who was equally clever with their olfactory senses.

“Hello, Regina,” Ruby greeted. Her hands were full with groceries as she ascended the stairs. “That’s very generous of you to help with the groceries.”

Regina blinked and shook her head at having been caught so easily. She hadn’t even gotten five feet from the door. She stammered, “Uh, y-es.”

Chuckling behind the grin, Ruby plopped a bag in Regina’s limp arms. The (almost) escapee followed, dragging her feet.

“Henry!” Regina called from the kitchen. “Lunch is here!”

There was a slamming of a drawer before the boy shuffled from his room, a deep frown plastered to his face.

Ruby looked up from unpacking the groceries. “Hey, watcha been up to?”

“Cleaning my room,” Henry grumbled.

Feeling a tad guilty for using her own son as a diversion in an unsuccessful plan, Regina said, “Henry, you don’t have to organize your closet. I thought about it and it does look satisfactory.”

Exasperated, Henry dropped his arms and sighed, “ _Now_ you tell me?”

“Sorry,” she murmured.

Ruby gave her a sideways glance that was filled with amusement. Whoever thought they could slip past a werewolf was a fool. Turned out the former Evil Queen was one such fool – and an _apologetic_ fool at that.

“So… let’s see what Granny has for us.” Ruby rummaged inside the takeout bag, crinkling the sides noisily and making a production of it. Suddenly her eyes lit up and she shouted loud enough for both Regina and Henry to jump. “Ah-ha! Medium rare steak with a side of chicken livers!”

“Eeeew!”

“Oh, my mistake.” Ruby winked at him and grinned wolfishly. “That’s my order. Here ya go, kid. Turkey sandwich on wheat, hold the tomato.”

Henry caught the sandwich in midair and unwrapped it lickety-split. Regina accepted her usual salad and dived in with more modesty.

Of all the visitors since their sequestering Ruby was the most bearable. Bringing food was a plus, of course, and her company had a way of making them forget why they were there. Unlike the others, Ruby didn’t treat them as prisoners or charity cases. And she never brought up their situation or talk about Regina’s stalker. Every day at noon she’d come bearing bags of food and a cup of the strongest coffee only a former mayor could take. There was casual conversation, a few jokes (that Regina would not take part in), and scraps of news from the outside world.

Though Regina did not appreciate being babysat like a wolf pup she did appreciate the lunch and coffee Ruby brought. When asked why there was no charge for her time and the lunch rounds Ruby would clam up and ask Henry how his food was.

Ruby was leaning her elbows on the counter catching Henry up on the gossip when Regina started listening.

“But you saw them, right?” Henry asked, leaning forward on his stool. “Like, _actually_ saw them together?”

“Do I not have the eyes of a wolf? Of course I saw them. They were holding hands and everything. Giggling like newlyweds. I almost threw up in my mouth it was so disgustingly cute.”

“Did they kiss?”

“Oh,” Ruby gasped theatrically, “did they ever…”

“Miss Lucas, doesn’t that information fall under the purview of…” She dragged off. Regina felt the sting of hearing the news from someone other than Kathryn and Frederick. She couldn’t bear to say the woman’s name much less make the first move in repairing a false friendship. Since the curse had broken Kathryn hadn’t spared her a word or a glance. It gave Regina undue hope to admit to herself that of everyone in town she wished for Kathryn’s company the most in these dark times of imprisonment. Yet no such visitor had made an appearance.

She cleared the thick mucus of wishful thinking from her throat before finishing, “… no one but the couple in question?”

“Regina,” Ruby stated as if she were talking to a child, “I see you every day, feed you food, information, and offer human contact even though you forbid it. I’m one of a few people left in this town that cares for your wellbeing. I think we are on a first name basis now.”

“Does it occur to you that _I_ might not want to be?”

“You must be losing your touch if you think that,” Ruby spreads her hands out and wiggles her fingers in hammy gloom, “‘mask of death thing’ still works on us. But no matter. I think the kindly gestures and leg warmers do you justice.”

Regina’s eyes drop to her feet where the ends of her trousers were tucked in thick wool socks to keep warm in the drafty apartment. Her head sprang back to Ruby’s and Henry’s chuckles. “I assure you, Miss Lucas, I have spared no kindly gestures to you, and I am aghast that you would think me as soft and white as this residence’s previous tenant.”

“If I were you, Mom, I would have been more defensive about those leg warmers because… that business is just embarrassing.”

“Henry!” reprimanded Regina who threw a lightning fast glare at his conspirator. “I will not have you teaching my son bad manners.” She didn’t have to ask Ruby how he developed this new aloof superiority. Granted, Regina copped to the same, but at least she had the good sense to be proper about it. “Now, just because I am confined under the sheriff’s watch does not mean I have turned into some indulgent little pet. You may bring me food and news, but that is where I draw the line. I will not be made into some aged caricature in comfortable socks. I am as much a royal sorceress after that wretched curse was broken and sure as hell since I earned myself my very own stalker. Do _not_ mistake my hunger for food and news as destitution. I am _not_ going soft.” She shifted hesitantly on her woolen feet before snapping, “And it is _drafty_ in here. So take _that_ gossip and spread it!” Regina ended with the finality of turning on her socked heel and stalking off.

Two pairs of globed eyes looked in shock at each other, not having seen the former mayor so untethered (or at least not since the last calamity which nearly blew Storybrooke off the map). Henry’s brows stayed where they were at his hairline until he got over the fact that his mother just swore in front of him for the first time (and probably not the last). Ruby, however, snapped out of it.

“Regina, wait!” She rushed out of the kitchen and came to a screeching halt in front of a fiery temper. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I was really just joking around, you know? You still scare the crap out of people.” Ruby cracked a wary smile for effect. “Promise.”

“There is nothing funny about this situation, pup.”

“What situation?”

Regina’s anger stalled before the gesture. It would appear that playing stupid wasn’t for stupid’s sake – a tactic the sheriff perfected routinely – but for sympathy’s sake. In any other _situation_ Regina would have backslapped the first person who jeopardized her vulnerability with compassion. Yet Ruby, clever, subtle Ruby who was not sporting a hand print on her cheek went about the masquerade like it was for the sole benefit of Regina’s sanity. It only managed to prove how steadfast Ruby’s place on Team Evil Queen she claimed to be.

“I, ah, I slipped you some of those homemade croutons in with your salad,” Ruby informed. “I don’t think Granny noticed, so it should go down guilt free – not that you’d feel guilty otherwise. I sure wouldn’t when the croutons are _that_ good.” Ruby snickered to herself and let out a snort.

Regina hummed something as close to a “thank you” as wouldn’t completely eradicate the “I’m not soft” speech. She returned wordlessly back to her lunch.

“Oh, I completely forgot,” the waitress waved her hands as if the other two’s munching hindered her concentration, “before I left the diner Emma called and asked me to let you guys know she would be held up at the station later, so don’t expect her home for dinner until after seven.”

“Again?” Henry whined.

Ruby shrugged before tossing the wrapper from her lunch in the garbage. “Your mom’s got a tough job, mister. When there’s a problem who are you going to call? Leroy? No. Emma is a highly attractive, capable woman people want to come save them in the nick of time.”

Regina glowered a bit. “I hardly think an explanation of the sheriff’s position calls for your personal opinion on her physical appearance.”

“Hey, it’s not just my opinion. There’s loads of people in this town that would cut their right arm off for a date with Emma.” If Regina hadn’t developed a case of rolling eyes she would have caught Henry looking to her at the mention of his other mom’s name. “But aside from that she’s been under a lot of stress lately. With the lunatics popping up like posies it’s no wonder she’s spent every morning, noon, and night at the station.” Over the lip of her paper coffee cup, Ruby cast a lingering eye on Regina. “She has more to worry about than a mother bear trying to escape the den.”

“I didn’t think there were bears in Storybrooke.” Henry’s face scrunched and tilted. Then, it dawned on him. “Wait, do you mean _The Story of the Three Bears_? But I’ve never seen…” Mouth widening with his eyes, Henry never so much as finished his sentence.

A wave of relief washed over Regina as she watched him sprint up the wrought iron stairs to his room. Never had she been so eager for her son’s pastime to make an appearance. “The sheriff doesn’t need to know about my recent… attempt.”

The corner of Ruby’s mouth tugged up. She made to slurp her coffee down noisily but before she did she laid it on thick with, “What attempt?”

* * *

It had been a long week at casa de Swan before the nightmares took a devastating turn. They had never been this vivid, nor had they startled her awake in tears and with the alarming sensation of choking.

Regina washed her face several times over and it was not until the fourth scrubbing of towel to face when she realized that the tears were dried up. She wished she could douse all her depravity with a shower. Rivulets of sweat ran down her back and the valley between her breasts, making sleep an uncomfortable chore. In the aftermath of so tremulous a nightmare she wished for comfort. The sore thought had her shaking her head. It had been so long since she had felt the security of arms hold her through the night. So long, in fact, that it was deemed legend.

Usually when Regina’s past kept her up at night she would seek comfort in another’s fortune. Henry slept so soundly, so easily the moment his head hit the pillow. It was times like this, sitting on the edge of his bed and smoothing his hair back that she envied his youth. She would imagine what he dreamed of: the protagonist of a story she read to him one night and the spacemen and the rockets that propelled them on to historic destinations. Not of dungeons and dubious magic. Not of small spaces and broken vases. She watched the shifting of his eyes under his lids and smiled at the peaceful breaths leaving his little mouth. Her heart never failed to lighten at the sight. Henry would always be her remedy.

As traumatic as they were, Regina took solace in her own nightmares. The horror of times past reminded her how not to treat her own child. It reminded her how crucial it was to break the cycle. The Mills family could carry a curse like no others could. From a drunken, absent miller to his heartless daughter and she to her first born, Regina bore the cruelty her bloodline was known for. Eleven years ago she swore to herself that her body would bear the last scars. She would relive it all in her dreams if she had to.

That morning Regina was the first to lumber through the kitchen. Chief among the duties on her very open schedule that day was switching on the coffee maker. The back of her hand stifled an enormous yawn which soon developed into a small smile at the stocked fridge. It would seem her threats came to fruition. Despite the sheriff’s diligence in answering the ruthlessly scribbled grocery list, Regina couldn’t help the cheerful expression from slipping. The market was only two blocks away. Why couldn’t she do the shopping? More importantly, why couldn’t she just make breakfast in her own god damned home with her own god damned functioning appliances? Yet here she was in a cubby hole of an apartment and unaware of the argument that would ensue from her cranky state.

The aroma of her morning efforts beckoned her housemates like bees to honey. The slapping of two pairs of bare feet trailed across the floor, carrying their half-lidded owners to their stools.

Regina turned from the stove to greet her son, “Good morning.”

Henry’s head was being supported by his hands. He gave no signs of life. Next to him, Emma grunted something close to intelligible.

“Mm,” was all Regina said. After all, the woman gave no grounds for awarding such stalwartly behavior with actually words. Emma’s eyes hadn’t even opened since descending the stairs, which caused Regina to wonder fleetingly how it hadn’t yet afforded her a stubbed toe. It’s still early, she thought brightly.

Emma burrowed her face in her hands, scrubbing the sleep away and groaning out her woes. She then paused, eyes still comically shut, and tipped her nose up. Her nose perked as she sniffed once. “What’s that smell?” She sniffed again.

“Seven AM.”

As predicted, Emma took the bait with open eyes. She blinked through the foggy image of Regina’s back – and her ass, if Emma’s eyes were being honest, or the way her weight shifted on her left foot when it went stiletto-less

“Seven AM smells…” Emma’s gaping yawn got in the way, “… smells good.” Eyes slid shut as she smiled lazily, almost dreamily.

“Fluffy, cage-free eggs with turkey bacon and whole wheat toast.”

“That’s a mouthful,” Emma mumbled and licked her lips over the feast plated before her, “in every sense of the word.”

“It has protein,” Regina emphasized, “and it is healthy. Everything a growing, young boy needs.”

“What about hard working sheriffs?”

“It depends. Are they going to give thanks for this bountiful meal I slaved over the stove to make?”

Still under the influence of sleepiness, Emma’s scowl came across as a pout. “I’m appreciative.”

“Well, strike up the band.”

“What’s going on?” Henry chimed in groggily like he had just woke right there in the kitchen.

“Breakfast,” Emma explained before Regina could get her dig in. She gave him a pat on the back and dove tines first into scrambled eggs. “Eat.”

At the mention of food, Henry gobbled up his eggs, bacon, and perfectly browned toast before his mothers had the chance to inform him of the dangers of choking. He shuffled back to his room when he finished, presumably to go back to sleep. As a result, Emma and Regina were left to drink their coffee and scrap their plates clean in silence.

“I’d like to submit a complaint about sleeping arrangements.”

“There’s no suggestion box, Regina. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t run this place with the formality of a five star hotel.”

“Oh, I’m completely aware how informal you carry about this place.” The generic black mug Regina christened as hers met the counter with a clank. With a carefully concealed wince, she pushed down the memory of a cold sweat and choking sobs and declared severely, “It’s been a week, Miss Swan. You have – though it irks me to say it – permitted me my own clothes, however I still lack the necessities. I want my own bedding. I need my things from home.”

Unfortunately, the strain in her voice had not gone unnoticed. Emma attested to it with a delicate collapse of her features.

The mug lowered hesitantly from pink lips and Emma hunkered down for backlash. “Are you not sleeping well?”

“That is none of your concern!” Regina snapped. It came out exceedingly scandalous despite the intent.

“Well, I washed the sheets. What more do you want?”

“I want my things. I want to sleep in my own bed, not some strangers!”

“Hey, I’m not some stranger you can boss around and insult on her choice of linens.” Emma shot off her stool, sputtering nonsensically to herself about the gall of being treated this way. After everything she had done to protect Regina she didn’t deserve this kind of ingratitude. And if the former mayor was grateful she had a bang up job of showing it. “Maybe you’re the problem why you can’t sleep. Have you thought about that? Because my sheets are fine, thank you very much!”

Hands planted on the counter, Regina leaned in with hazardous resolve. “I don’t care if you bought them fresh from the Martha Stewart Collection. There will be no scenario wherein I will share anything more with you.”

“Yeah, well, that’s just too bad because we already share a kid. It’s time to buck up and deal with the cards your dealt. I’ve tried to make your stay as comfortable as possible. I’ve taken great pains, Regina. This isn’t a bed and breakfast.”

“I’d rather take my chances there.” Regina turned to the side to sulk at the ivory paint of the dining table that peeled from disuse.

“Be my guest!” Emma barked with a finger jabbing to the front door. “But know you go without your son. He’s staying here, not because I told him to or forced him, but because he knows it’s safe here.” She went to pull on her boots, snatch up her keys, and throw her jacket under her arm. The abrasiveness in her behavior did not become apparent until her teeth grit at Regina, the frustration burning behind her eyes. “For someone with a fixation on happy endings you do a brilliant job of botching your own. Why don’t you try a little self-reliance? Stop waiting for someone to brighten your day and do it yourself.”

And with that the front door slammed behind her, leaving Regina behind to feel the sting of her words.


	4. Chapter 4

In hindsight, it may have proved to be the wrong move to make, but Regina had been a shitty houseguest from day one and Emma was not about to hide her true feelings any more. Playing nice was all fine and well, but when Henry wasn’t around what was the use? All it did was use up precious energy Emma could have used in hunting down that car chasing pervert.

While Regina had no qualms about declaring her opinions like they were state law and threw insults left and right without so much as a bat of the eye, Emma went about it all in secret. The consequences of so ungrateful and unhelpful a guest caused a mounting of resentment on Emma. She would never regret saving Henry and, in effect, Regina, nor would she be sorry for inviting the incorrigible woman into the safety of her home. But as Regina grew more spoiled in her confinement, Emma was losing grip on patience. The layers of bitterness that resulted started to mask her true feelings about their situation and if it mounted any further she would forget why it was so crucial for Regina to be there in the first place.

It was all a mess. Two unmarried women who raised a son together spelled complicated. They didn’t need to add more intricacies to their family. And what about Henry? How would this cabin fever affect him? They knew all too well the consequences that stemmed from escalating tension. It was what they had strove to avoid the past year. Emma and Regina’s tolerance of each other and their schedule for shuffling Henry between them… it had all been working so well (some would say it worked perfectly). But then Regina’s stalker had to show up again and put a monumental cramp in their style.

The sheriff’s station was the only place Emma went to escape. Actually, anywhere outside the apartment counted as Regina couldn’t leave the premises, but there was the matter of a select number of townspeople who seemed to think their sheriff was at their beck and call. What was the burning question of the day? Regina. Always fucking Regina. _Where is she? Is she planning to destroy Storybrooke? What will we do if she sends us all back to the Enchanted Forest? And if she succeeds in her villainous scheme will we have time to pack?_ Those were just the questions from Team Witch Hunters. Emma didn’t even have the time or the patience anymore to answer the people who actually cared about how Regina was carrying on.

At least at the station she could power off her cell phone and work in peace. There was coffee, snacks, and her one and only sympathetic pal: David

Like Ruby, he kept things mellow for everyone, and not just when Regina was present. If he squinted enough he could see the shadows under his daughter’s eyes and the way her shoulders slumped after a dead end in the investigation. A gentle rub on her back was one thing which Emma allowed, but as her deputy he kept things professional. From nine to five his focus narrowed to all things related to the sheriff’s station. He never once goaded her into talking about how she slept or asked if she wanted to go home early. He also kept her nagging mother off her back during work hours. Emma couldn’t ask for a better deputy – or a more understanding father, if she really gave it thought.

While she had David to remind her daily that things were business as usual, there was also the added bonus of a long-term investigation that was starting to run as cold as mid-winter Maine.

Emma had been working doggedly to find the stalker and met a brick wall every time. Regina had made it very clear to Emma (informing her every day, in fact) that she wanted to be notified the minute the “craven bastard” was apprehended so she could give him a “talking to.” Emma herself had other things in mind which included a “cold, meal-less night in the slammer” before she “chopped the bastard’s balls from his scrotum.” David always thought she was taking it a bit far, but Emma would simply go on about the new interrogation techniques she read about on Wikipedia.

Since the first whispers of Mr. M spread through town, the first two people she paid a visit to were Jefferson and Sidney. After the curse broke Sidney had been slightly overlooked and long forgotten to have resided in the psych ward. It wasn’t until things died down that he was released only to come crawling back to the former mayor. Despite his failed reputation both in politics and press, he still retained the means of pursuit and information collection. As a result of his deplorable paparazzi stunts, Emma threw him back in the paddled cell.

Jefferson didn’t prove to be any easier to extract information from. He may have hated Regina through and through, but he remained mum, especially around his daughter. The Evil Queen showed to be not the only tainted soul intent on redemption.

When she first confronted them both, Jefferson and Sidney held that they were innocent. After the car chase Emma decided to try again, more forcefully this time.

“Hey…” Emma’s tongue tied around the word “Dad” because she hardly saw the relevance when they were on the clock. “Did you get a hold of the psych ward?”

David drew away from his computer screen to hand a file to his boss. “I managed to get the nurse on call that night and she signed a sworn statement that Sidney has remained right where you left him.”

“He was locked away the entire night,” Emma prodded, “and the nurse on call didn’t leave for a coffee break or anything, right? Because if they did they wouldn’t be up front about stuff like that.” She could see that the deputy didn’t exactly appreciate being drilled in this manner, so she held out her palms innocently. “Come on. I just want to cover the bases.”

“I got her statement in person. She was telling the truth.”

“You’re positive? Because I used to think I had a bullshit detector and look where that went.”

“If you trust me to do this job, Emma, then give me the credit of being certain. I know this has been put a lot of undue stress on you, but don’t let it cloud your judgment.”

Emma crossed her arms and raised a brow. “Are you saying that as my deputy or my father?”

“Neither,” David replied, inclining his head forward and challenged the sheriff’s surge of curiosity with nostalgia. “Take it as advice from a former king. The pressure of keeping law and order can prove to be taxing on the most prepared of individuals. No one escapes the burdens of leadership.”

“Well, well, look who’s traveling down memory lane. I didn’t think you remembered that far back, old man.”

“Don’t get smart with me, young lady.” A solitary finger raised in warning before it receded and was replaced with a bark of laughter and a 100 watt grin. “I always wanted say that.”

Emma chuckled through an odd mixture of sentimentality and abnormality. “Uh, glad I could help.”

“Anyway, did you follow up with Jefferson? Or did he stonewall you again?”

“I cornered him yesterday and got him to squeal.”

David’s ears perked at that. “I hope you don’t mean…”

“Relax. No instruments of torture were involved.”

“Because that would be illegal.”

“Yeah, well, no one bothered to inform Greg and Tamara.” Emma ground her heel into the floor, reminiscing how it felt to punch that bitch in the gut. “It would seem federal law doesn’t extend to the Storybrooke area.”

He waved it off, not in the mood to get into yet another philosophical debate on how backward their town is. “So what did he say?”

“Jefferson wasn’t anywhere near Toll Bridge. That’s after I threatened to charge him with obstruction of justice and roughed him up a bit.” She caught his disapproving frown and added, “… In the nicest way possible. That night he attended his daughter’s recital. Grace was there to back up the statement and I triple checked the event’s ticket roster. His alibi is air tight.”

“So he’s off the hook.”

Emma joined in the sigh and ran a hand wearily through her hair. “Seems that way.”

“How did he react when you told him about Regina and her pursuer?”

“He wasn’t surprised, but then who would be? People have been out for her blood since the day the curse broke. I hate to say it but a death threat isn’t exactly a foreign occurrence anymore.”

David nodded. He hunched over his desk, letting his folded arms take the weight as he studied the surface of his desk. “She’s lucky to have you on this case, Emma. If I were her I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Yeah? I wouldn’t know. She’s more a pain in my side than this Mr. M guy.”

“I don’t think I have to coach you on the time it takes for one as stubborn as Regina to warm up to anybody. It’s a process, Emma. Look at your mother and I. We’re still trying to come to terms with where the cards have landed. When Regina removes the blinders she will… what do they call it? Pay it forward? Anyone with a heart will eventually see what you’re putting yourself through to defend her.”

“ _Eventually_ ,” Emma scorned, rolling her eyes. “You couldn’t be any more specific?”

“Not unless you have precognitive abilities. And I don’t think Rumpelstiltskin is in the sharing mood these days.”

The first hand of the clock hadn’t yet touched noon and that was as much Regina talk as she could stand that day. Of course it didn’t help that Emma’s fury still burned fresh after their argument that morning. Anger melted just as achingly slow as wounds healed and left scars more outstanding than not.

She was aware that their living together was as hard on Regina as it was on her. She knew because she slept on the couch every night hearing the whimpers from her own room. No wonder Regina reacted with such defensiveness when asked about her sleep habits. It was equally painful for Emma to keep from easing the nightmares than it was to put up with another mouth to feed. But she knew it was not her place. If she knew Regina at all her attempts to comfort would be met with a biting retort or a slight to her lumpy bed.

Proving her worthy intentions garnered Emma no such similar treatment. Moreover, she was sick and tired of the feud that’s spawned because of their living under one roof. Emma may not have been raised in a stable home or had a parent/child discussion on morals, but she knew how to be the bigger person. Her outburst that morning was inappropriate. The things she slung at the woman were as hypocritical as they were hurtful. If Emma wanted to repair the damage she had to apologize. She would do so against all odds. Regina would just have to sit down, shut up, and take it.

***

A finely trimmed and filed nail (perfectly manicured considering the free time lent to its owner) grazed across the upholstery. It scraped the armrest of the couch in methodical circles as Regina sat and stared blankly ahead. She took a while to budge from her statuesque position since the front door slammed, shutting Regina out of what was surely a cobbled explanation to so testy a performance. But when her mind finally clicked back to present she found herself some hours later perched on a couch in a stranger’s – repeat _stranger’s_ – living room.

Emma’s outburst had shaken Regina. The upsurge of anger and resentment was so unexpected. She just assumed that her presence there meant nothing, like she was some unfortunate ghost to be tolerated.

But the truth of Emma’s words sunk in. Regina _had_ been acting like a misfortunate guest ever since she was forced to call the place her safe harbor. She monopolized time with Henry despite the hours Emma’s job stole from their son, she didn’t greet Emma when she came home, nor offered to ask why the overworked sheriff always looked so glum upon showing up routinely after seven at night. Even on the rare occasion she cooked homemade meals they never were served without some dig to the quality of Emma’s choice ingredients.

In addition, Regina’s sulking rivaled that of a cursed Dark One. While everyone else seemed to settle in to the new arrangement, Regina found fault where none existed. She was, without a doubt, her own worst enemy, and easily planted a target on herself. She didn’t help out around the house, she never cleaned, or laundered clothing other than her own and maybe Henry’s misplaced socks. Henry had explicitly instructed her not to intrude on his responsibilities which had become set in stone before Regina ever came to live there. She should have accepted that since Emma’s apartment had been his other home for close to a year. He and Emma had developed their own system of living, and having Regina thrown in the mix was like throwing a wrench in a well-oiled machine. She had intruded on their lifestyle, their home, their relationship, and… she was beginning to feel sorry for it. To make matters worse Regina didn’t know how to express the admission of guilt.

Which explained why she tiptoed up to the closed door with a foreign sense of hesitancy.

“Henry, I haven’t seen you all day. What is so enthralling about this room that keeps you from leaving it?”

“Nothing.”

“Open the door, please, so I can gage whether you’re lying to me.”

“Emma is the lie detector, Mom, not you.”

“Yes, well look where that landed her.” Regina rested a hand on the wall to the right of the closed door and shifted from one foot to the other. She raised her voice, perfecting direct authority. “I have known you since your infancy. I can tell when you’re lying.”

The knob twisted, but not before a long suffering sigh echoed from the other side. Henry’s face peered from inside the crack. “Can I help you?”

“What are you up to?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” Henry squeaked. Before he could barricade the door Regina was pushing over the threshold.

“Oh, Henry…”

“ _Mom_.”

“It’s summer break and _this_ is how you choose to spend it?”

“Well, it’s not like I can go to the park! I’m not allowed to check a book out at the library or see my friends, either!”

Regina’s eyes softened and she turned her sympathy on the hazard that was her son’s room. Littered across the floor were maps of all types: road maps, physical maps, topographical maps. All were marked with 'x's and run through with thumbnails. There was not a doubt in her mind that Henry could read them. At the epicenter of this disaster zone laid his story book, its pages more liberally tagged and marred with Post-Its than usual.

Hands on her hips, Regina could only shake her head. She spared him the question of “why?” since it was already written across her face and emphasized with an enormous question mark in the form of a raised brow.

“I’m bored, Mom. It’s been a week since I’ve seen the outside world and I feel useless just sitting around here. I…” Henry’s eyes remained suspiciously preoccupied with the carpet when stuttered, “I-I begged her to let me help out. She didn’t want me involved, but I finally convinced her that my knowledge of people’s Storybrooke counterparts would help the investigation.”

Despite the boy’s claim, Regina placed fault with one person and one person only. “She put you up to this?!” came the shriek from her open mouth. “Is she really that irresponsible? My god, I turn my back and she’s breaking child labor laws!”

“Chill, Mom. It’s no big deal. She just gave me some maps to highlight and draw on.” He bent down to a pile and plucked up a road map of Storybrooke heavily marked with neon.

“I don’t care if Miss Swan gave you a coloring book. What you do with your time is as much my business as it is hers. Anything anyone gives you has to be okayed through me.” Regina took mental step back to take in the enormity of Henry’s actions. “This is far too dangerous,” she said, her overcast eyes demonstrating the gravity of her warning.

“Reading maps is dangerous?”

“The less you know the better.”

“But you don’t understand!” Henry’s hands bunched into fists which jerked exasperatedly at his sides. “I’m doing this to protect you!”

“Henry…” The breath she made to take hitched with the bob in her throat. Regina clamped her jaw tight as if that kept impending tears at bay. “Henry, I’m very proud to hear you say that, but it’s just not in your job description. As your mother that is my responsibility. I know I haven’t done right by you in the past and I have disregarded your opinion, made you feel alone and… and crazy at one time, but I’m trying so hard to make up for that. Please trust me to take care of you. Please don’t make this harder on yourself than necessary. What happens to me – the reasons why I haven’t been popular of late – is not your concern. That’s business between the sheriff and I and the people that make the mistake of threatening my life.”

“How can your safety not be my concern? I was in the car with you that night. We could have died if it wasn’t for Emma.”

“Don’t say that, sweetheart.”

“Why not? Because you don’t want to face the fact that I see things? Things that you seem to think I’m too young to see? Haven’t you been around the past two years? I’ve experienced some bizarre stuff most kids my age only dream of. I’m not blind. You can’t control everything. You can’t hide all the bad stuff from me forever. You won’t always be around to do it.”

Her hand jerked back from him. The fingers curled down until nails sliced into her palm, disguising the tremor. She had intended to place comfort on his shoulder, to ease his worry, but when he put things like that, in so clear a perspective, reminding her of an unquestionable future where she would not be a part of her only child’s life…. It was harsh and perhaps justified considering her recent childish petulance.

“Wait, Mom… I – I didn’t mean it like that...!”

Henry’s eyes grew wide and frantic as he stumbled over his maps to reach for the hand. She was too fast for him though. She always was good at receding from him when the going got tough and when her vulnerability became too shaken to conceal. He should have remembered the only means of disguise was a swiftly shut door in his face.

* * *

The first thing Emma noticed upon entering the apartment was loud, booming rock music. She knew from experience that Henry disregarded rules of noise level when he was having a particularly bad day – that or he was angry at one of his parents. But seeing as Emma took off of work for the afternoon she was looking forward to spending a little quality time with her son in his non-grunge mood.

The obnoxious, screaming guitar solo wasn’t really a surprise to come home to; an eleven-year-old Emma would have escaped through music too if fleeing didn’t do the trick (and in her case it usually did). It wasn’t fun, she realized, but for Henry the music was his way of coping. She liked to run; he preferred to get the Led out.

The second thing that came to her attention was way more unexpected. Nose in the air, her expression soon took on the form of dread complete with blown wide eyes and an open mouth. The heady scent of magic caressed her nostrils as she breathed it in deeply before letting it out in a huff. Shaking the thick, invisible fog from her head, she blinked rapidly until she saw the agape door to her room.

“What the hell is going on?” Emma shouted over the music.

One piece of clothing after another was shoved into the borrowed duffle by the tremulous hands. They were accosted by so violent a shaking that one of the silk blouses fell to the floor. Regina swore under her breath before snatching it up with a hiss and practically punching a hole through the bag when she deposited the shirt in with the others.

“Regina, why does it look like you’re going somewhere?”

Though there were still items of clothing left behind on the bed, the teeth of the zipper sealed shut with such force the suitcase almost ripped apart. Emma panned from the bed to its recent owner, hard pressed to admit which was more out of sorts. The fact that Regina forwent the opportunity to make a withering retort frightened Emma more than the packed bag did.

“Are you going to answer any of my questions?” Emma hung back in the syrupy tension of Regina’s magic, fighting back a sneeze. “Why is Henry so upset that he has to blow his ears out?”

Without a word, Regina shouldered past, bag in tow. Emma stumbled back with a frown, never having seen that brunette head hung so low. It ducked from the world like one glance would set it all to stone.

“Hey!” Emma raced after and beat the fugitive to the door. “Answer me!”

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” Regina hissed through her clenching, white teeth. And that was not her only pale feature; her entire face took on a ghostlike appearance. She looked sickly, beads of sweat trailed from her temples, and her once brown eyes now clouded over in psychedelic purple. The strain was evident as the nerves at her temples thudded in time with a guitar bass. It looked as if she was holding in the devil himself – or a crescendo of deadly magic.

“Get out of my way,” Regina ordered breathlessly.

_Before I do something I’ll regret._

Emma picked up on the fading lilt of Regina’s voice and disregarded safety measures with a roll of her eyes. Based on her experience with magic users this was the kind of fight or flight situation to be taken seriously. The white knuckled fists should have been warning enough to one so marred by abusive and loose-tempered grownups, yet Emma stood her ground, unfazed, even taunting her would-be-aggressor with a smirk.

A shriek sounded from Regina as she was thrown over Emma’s shoulder in one smooth move. Her bag dropped to the floor like a lump of potatoes and was left forgotten. It took a moment for the shock to wear off before Regina fought back. How dare she be handled like this! She was _royalty_ , a god damned _politician_. She was a powerful sorceress who could snap Emma like a twig, and this was the good for nothing sheriff’s idea of placating her?

Snarling out in lividness, Regina flailed her arms, trying to gain enough momentum to escape but it was like her waist was being held in a brace. Before she could ever get a few good punches to Emma’s back Regina was discharged to the springy bed with little humility. She scowled indignantly, keeping her bouncing body balanced on the bed.

Emma locked the door behind her, giving it a good natured punch to ensure its security. Ambling down the steps, she smiled and reminded over her shoulder, “Don’t think you can use magic to get out of this or you’d be breaking a promise to your son!”

She hadn’t even finished her sentence when an ear splitting crack echoed from above. The door, previously fortified, blew off its hinges as it were a toy. Regina stalked towards Emma, backing her into the living room by the sole look of murder in her effervescent eyes.

All of a sudden the ballsy Emma Swan of a minute ago melted in air. This was not the image of a wronged woman or a mayor aggrieved by her incompetent sheriff. Violet plumes rose around stiletto-clad feet, swirling around them in a dancing feat. The viscosity fed on Emma’s terror like it hadn’t eaten in days. No, she thought as her feet retreated, this was a very cagey Regina made to stew with her repressed powers.

_Oh, hell._

Long clenched fingers flexed and speared out in claw-like fashion. The brick wall cushioned Emma’s fall with a sickening crack. Livid and drunk on magic, Regina kept her pinned there. Seeing the pathetic woman, spread eagle and helpless, drew a smile to her lips. She chuckled dryly in satisfaction, an old school glint in her eyes. The magic pumped through her veins and mixed with her blood like adrenaline. She felt breathless and victorious and it felt so long overdue. It was all so heady and clouding her consciousness that she couldn’t stop her lips from sharing.

“I have been stuck here for _days_ in this hovel of a home with nothing to do but _wait_ and _wait_ ,” she said slowly, lip curling over her sharp pearly whites, “until that sociopath is captured. This is worse than the topmost tower of an isolated castle. There is nothing to read, nothing to cook, not a shred of entertainment in sight. Until now that is…” Her sumptuous twang dragged off as she took Emma in like a stuffed and mounted decoration.

Tears leaked from the corners of Emma’s eyes. She squeezed them shut, numb to the seeping evidence that disclosed her terror. “I’m not as pathetic as you think,” she said, catching on a whimper when she threatened to move.

The courageous attempt to escape, though futile, sparked a flame in Regina. “Why do they say that?” Her head cocked, the question, though hypothetical, swirling round her head like one of life’s mysteries. “Why do they always say that whey they are positively saturated in silly tears and thrumming with despair?”

Disdain turned to delight at the squirming blonde. Her eyes enflamed a deep purple, glazing over the straining limbs before she let out a laugh of approval. “So abandoned, so… suspended.” Her full lips formed a pout and tsked, mocking her pinned quarry. “The heart pounds… I can hear it. I can taste your fear, your anger, your… _desire…_ for escape. The skin prickles on the fringes of my magic. You can struggle all you want, stretch your limbs to their limit, scream and wail out for mercy, but it will only serve as theater. I, as your eager audience, would wish for your cheek and your misplaced right to freedom. Just try. It only satisfies me.”

Emma managed to pry her eyes open. The sight of Regina was nearly as dizzying as the pain which she inflicted. She clenched her jaw around what was sure to be an acceptable admission of defeat (if Regina’s hitching gasp was anything to go on) and forced the words out. “Wake up, Regina.” Her entire body quaked with her exhale. “H-hen –“

“Silence,” Regina hissed and flicked her fingers out. Emma’s head was forced back, exposing the pale column of her jugular. “You do not get to lecture me on the perils of magic when you refuse to harness what is latent and rusting inside you. You… you ignorant whelp of non-magical fools! It is taxing just to breathe – and that does not stem from a matter of psychological distress. It cannot be counseled away through the capable hands of a _bug_. My magic needs breathing like my lungs are useless without it.”

Her toe pointed forward and proceeded to close in on Emma’s direction until it brought them within inches of each other. Regina tilted her head so her precious breath could puff against a pale jaw. She stared at the severe line, captivated by its resolve and how lean muscle contracted with every centimeter that she caved in.

“I have been trapped here, with you, and it is too much. I can control it no longer. I don’t want to.” She receded, just enough to catch a curious glint in Emma’s eyes. It could be devastation, or warning, or interest, but which one? Regardless, Regina knew now that she had the woman’s attention. “You cannot begin to understand what it is like to keep this bottled up. It is like forcing a stopper on a nuclear bomb. And you silly girl, you think it can be kept at bay?” Regina’s sputtering came to a halt. Her eyes narrowed and targeted themselves into half-lidded, barely lucid green eyes.

It would be simple to escape with the help of magic. Her impediment could be disposed of with an easy flick of her wrist. But as Regina’s lids fluttered through the bitterness of her magic, Emma came into view. Emma, who cringed through white hot pain that stretched her joints like a rack of torture. _Emma_ , not some worthless impediment. _Emma_.

There was a sharp gasp followed by the heap of a body collapsing to the frayed, Oriental rug. Emma shook the last wisps of purple swirling round her head. She made out the quick staccato clacks of heels over the rock music. A cursing groan slipped from her mouth as she made a swift evaluation of her injuries and after green lighting herself for action she scrambled to her feet. She was alone. Once taking a preliminary deep breath, Emma, burdened with the responsibility to protect and serve Storybrooke no matter how infuriating its citizens, trailed after the woman.

But Regina had a precious minute on her. Trotting along the sidewalk, Emma passed one priceless black heel and three blocks later its twin lay dejected in a gutter. Having spent years using magic as a crutch and another 28 abandoned from it, the former mayor could be described as semi-athletic, but on bare feet she was faster and powered with a seemingly limitless supply of magic juice.

The way that she was running, hair dragging in the wind, legs propelling her forth across gravel and harsh concrete, it was no wonder why Regina avoided a simple disappearance act courtesy of magic. The open road was her breath of fresh air, her obvious choice in drinking up newfound freedom. After her own stint in lock up, Emma knew the appeal in a good chest burning sprint.

A construction zone appeared ahead. Yellow and orange jacketed laborers presided over a sink hole in the middle of the road, unaware of the two women charging there way until their queen came shoving past. Emma barely made it through the throng of muscled workers and machinery without so much as a breathy “Excuse me.” She nearly tripped on her way out. One of the men growled and shook his fist at her back.

“Quit running!” Emma barked, catching the arm and dragging the woman to the side of the road. She was so furious and exhausted she couldn’t care less if her yank dislocated a shoulder.

“That’s ironic coming from you!”

“Not fair, Regina. Hey! Will you stop squirming you - ?”

“Go ahead!” The club of a fist forming at Regina’s side reared back, but stayed from following through. “Call it like it is. What am I really to you people? Say it!”

“ _Regina_ ,” came the growl from intolerant, young lips. “And if you don’t stop struggling I can call you a bitch, too!”

Naked palms gave one last shove before Regina stole away from doing something more injurious to both parties involved. She heaved in silence. The adrenaline still rushed in her ears, reminding her how satisfying the run had been. Regina closed her eyes, catching her breath and dabbing the sweat from her upper lip with the sleeve of her blouse.

While the former mayor collected herself, Emma doubled over, clutching at her knees. A dull ache emanated from where the brick wall had met her tailbone and the back of her skull, but she mentally pushed it aside along with the urge to strangle the witch.

“I get that you’re not the sharing type,” she huffed out, “but if all that stuff you said back there is true – that you feel trapped and on the brink of doing something reckless, like, oh, I don’t know, using me as wall décor… you have to tell me.”

Regina’s head twisted. “Why would I lie about that?” she snapped.

“You said a lot of creepy shit back there, Regina. How am I supposed to tell?”

At the mention of said “creepy shit” images of her impulsive behavior flashed before her eyes. Regina’s expression dropped at the reminder and of the boy still lurking unawares in his room. A knotted tempest of emotion and resentment had been building so long that she could no longer ignore the seductiveness of her magic. It proved unbecoming of a queen and a mayor, but when was it last that Regina donned either of those mantles?

“Help me out here.” The blonde threw up her hand as if it were reaching for a life line. “I’m suffering a major headache.”

Having settled back to their familiar brown shade, Regina’s eyes softened in light of Emma’s state. The young woman winced under the midday sun and fought the dizzy spell and, no doubt, the urge to throw her cookies right there in the middle of the street. Even a mild concussion could have that effect; Regina recalled back to the time her son fell from playground equipment and subsequently accosted her Jimmy Choos with a liquid lunch. She watched as Emma rubbed the ache from her left arm and proceeded with caution around the bruises concealed by her long sleeve shirt.

She couldn’t place a time or place as to how Emma sustained her injuries. The last hour seemed a shuffled mass of puzzle pieces and if she peered inward she was met with a yawning abyss perfumed with the signature spice of her magic and… Emma’s. She mentally shook off the potent combination of the two, aware how unpredictable the force of their magic could wreak. Her memory of the occurrence was hazy, but sluggishly coming back to her.

_God, what have I done?_

The irony was not lost on her, having enslaved the same person who imprisoned her. Regina’s confinement could hardly be described as harsh, she realized, when compared to the blemishes inflicted on the young woman in return. She treated Emma like another one of her prisoners. A queen’s pet served in many ways: amusement, entertainment, practical applications of servitude – and all because Regina couldn’t take a little cabin fever. Because she couldn’t express a little gratitude towards the person trying to protect her and their son.

_I hurt her. I intended to bring her to the brink of death. I nearly SEDUCED her._

The curiosity flashing behind Emma’s eyes rose from memory, but Regina quickly dismissed it.

“Regina…?”

“I don’t sleep.” The tone rang even and emotionless, but her eyes darkened to the gravity of her admission. “And when I do I wake in a less than agreeable state.”

“Nightmares,” Emma gathered delicately.

“It’s not something I want promoted in Miss Lucas’ gossip bulletin. And Henry shouldn’t have to know what keeps his mother up at night. I wouldn’t wish that on any child. The disadvantage of my sleeping conduct – which I do not share lightly – stops with you, Miss Swan. Do you understand?”

And Emma did even if a simple matter of sleep failed to justify Regina’s relapse. Emma was quite familiar with the shadows that circled those haunted eyes. Being confined to small spaces didn’t sit well with her either. In that, they were similar. Like an animal, they lashed out when cornered. Henry got pit in the middle as always, though responsibility no longer lied with pride and selfishness but with their own past demons rearing their ugly heads. And lest they forget, the elusive Mr. M.

“I understand.” Emma shrugged, concealing the same spine tingling sensation her housemate shared at the thought of bad dreams. “I can see that this hasn’t been easy on you. But if living with Henry and I is as unpleasant as you say it is you have to do something about it, something that doesn’t mean using magic. Look, if you want to perform some innocent magic tricks that’s fine. I won’t tell Henry. In fact, I don’t think he’d be that torn up about breaking your promise if he knew how suppressing your magic has been affecting you – and me,” Emma added, clutching at her elbow. “This isn’t easy for me, either, you know? The last roommates I had were my parents and that, I shit you not, was far from a picnic. I get that it’s awkward… we’re sort of family but not really. But this arrangement is necessary,” Emma emphasized gravely and with a hand patting the air like she was testifying on the holy bible, “for Henry… for you... just – for _us_. Don’t give me that look. I know this isn’t coming out in Madame Mayor level clarity here, so… trust me for a little while longer. There’s a sheriff in town, remember? I am going to get this little shit that’s been stalking you and if you want to string someone up and have your evil way with them then I’ll have him standing by in a cell by Christmas.”

Regina was caught halfway between a gasp and a smirk. “You would do that for me?”

“You can smile. I know you want to.”

The corner of her mouth twitched upwards, painting a sly, vengeful expression. Emma was just thanking her lucky stars that it wasn’t directed at her this time.

“Okay?” Emma prodded, a blonde curtain of hair drooping with the incline of her head.

“Okay.”

She had to turn her ear to catch it echo in the breeze but it was there alright. Drills and shouts from the construction area continued in the near distance while Emma and Regina continued to stand at the curb. They shuffled their feet and stole the occasional glance. They were still griped by tension, though not the kind that swirled and crackled between them earlier.

Emma’s thumbs hooked around the loops in her jeans as she made a careful study of the boot toeing the asphalt. “So… that was pretty intense, huh?”

“To what are you referring?” Regina inquired, tossing her hair back in the wind. It was like she was purposefully being difficult. She would never admit it, but getting a rise out of Emma had an odd effect on her mood. It was almost as if that indignant little pout cheered her up and maybe even brought a bit of light to those dark recesses.

“I’ve seen anger and I’ve seen you wield your magic. Hell, I’ve paid the brunt of both in action, but… not like that. I don’t know you as the Evil Queen. I don’t… I didn’t recognize you…” Emma finally looked up in time to witness the drain of confidence in heavily knit brows, but then it was gone in a flash.

“Magic can be seductive in more ways than one. There is a reason why it is so dangerous in the hands of an emotionally unstable individual. Not that –“

“You’re emotionally unstable,” Emma finished with a playful smirk. That earned her a withering glare. Her shoulders went up in a shrug as if to concede, _Who isn’t in this town?_ She then shoved her hands in her pockets and thinned her lips seriously. Her features scrunched as she fumbled with the proper way of wording the conundrum that recently sprung to mind. “When you said that you couldn’t control it, that it was too much and you didn’t want to hold back… Did you mean magic?”

Regina frowned. “What else would I mean?”

“I don’t know. You were standing so close to me with those creepy purple eyes and I could hardly breathe much less follow your pleasant speech.”

“That was a result of the magic.”

“Or something,” Emma muttered. She sheepishly rolled her eyes elsewhere.

While Emma searched for something to distract her short attention span, Regina combed over the woman with an eye of concern. There was a shifting of weight to one of the lesser of two sore legs which probably explained the slight wobble to Emma’s gait. She licked and nibbled her lips raw as if the endless cycle of biting teeth and soothing tongue was a diversion from the rest of her body’s discomfort. Regina gathered from the edgy flitting of her eyes and bobbing of her throat that the woman was still in shock over being restrained in her own home.

“Are you alright?” Regina asked, clearing the thickness coating her throat.

It was a moot question. Of course she wasn’t alright. Regina could still hear the skull meet brick with a thwack. She would be hard pressed to forget something like that and she ended up chewing at the inside of her cheek in… remorse? She sniffed. Preposterous.

Clenching her teeth, Emma ground out a testy, “Yeah.”

She limped back to the apartment and for the first time since settling in Storybrooke hadn’t a care to check if Regina followed.


	5. Chapter 5

The nightmares were back and in full force. For a few days there was a lull where Henry could go on sleeping in glorious obliviousness and his two moms could actually get some peace. But all good things had come to an end. Long fingers of dusk crept up on her psyche and assaulted her with manifestations of the past. The soft whimpers still managed to rebound down the stairway (despite a shut door) and haunted the only waking tenant in the building.

Restless and fighting her conscience, Emma lay awake on her back for most of the night. Since being voluntarily ousted from her bedroom the living room couch had perfectly molded to her body’s frame, making sleep that much more difficult. With every exhale she felt herself sink into the cushions. It felt like being swallowed whole by the sucking force of quick sand.

Emma sighed and brought her arm across her eyes to shield the moonbeams peeking through the blinds.

“Are you going to stay like that all night or are you going to help her?”

Jerking the arm off her face, Emma shot halfway off the couch. When the blurriness of a semi-wakeful state thinned Henry appeared there in his pajamas. Despite it being well after midnight he sported a hard-lined expression.

“What are you doing up?” Emma mumbled. The irritability in her tone was directed more towards the sagging couch than the rude awakening. She smacked her lips and swallowed at the dry taste in her mouth. “Kid, it’s totally late. Go back to bed.”

The couch creaked and when the woman looked to be settling back down Henry startled her with a shrill, “Maaa!”

“Whaaat?” Emma groaned, shooting up again before her head hit the pillow. Her eyes remained comically shut. She finally opened them, squinting into the darkness and finding her son jabbing his finger in the general direction of his other parent.

_He always did get his bossy persistence from her._

“It’s just a nightmare, Henry. She’ll get over it.”

“This has been going on for days. I hardly recognize her in the mornings with those things under her eyes.”

“They’re called ‘bags,’ kid, and that’s not something you want to broadcast around her.”

“Can’t you just go up there,” he said, his whole expression pleading, “and fix it?”

“It’s not like I can slap a Band-Aid on it. She’s having a bad dream, probably something related to wolves or ogres or whatever crap that lurks in the Enchanted Forest. Anyway,” Emma rolled her eyes before taking a fist to their corners and scrubbing, “have you met your mom? She doesn’t let anyone help her. What is she going to do when I’m the first thing she sees? I’ll get a black eye. Do you want me to get a black eye?”

“You would do the same for me.”

Emma took one look at his petulant little frown and tamped down on another rolling set of eyes. If the past two years had taught her anything it was not to poke fun at his way of logic. And as a mother she really should not laugh at the adult-like manner in which he went about telling her off.

“That’s different. You’re my son.”

“And she’s _not_ family? I thought you guys were getting along. Look, just wake her up and ask if she wants to talk about it. It usually works when Mom does it for me.”

“Well…” Emma sighed, taking pains to swing her legs over the edge of the couch and get her bearings, “why don’t you do it?” There was a trace of whining in the request, hinting just how much she didn’t want to do this.

_Because I really don’t._

He raised a single brow, perfecting his mother’s mayoral _Were you born yesterday?_ expression and proceeded to give a shake of his head.

“Why not?” she wailed to the ceiling. “Regina’s more liable to smack me in the face than talk to me. You are a way better option for everyone involved. Come on.”

“You should be the one,” he explained matter-of-factly. “You can both bond over your experiences with nightmares. Share strategies. That kind of stuff.”

Emma’s groggy face went dumbstruck. “How do you know I have nightmares?”

“I didn’t start living with you yesterday. Of course I know about them.”

“Shit,” she muttered, rubbing at her forehead.

A minute later Emma stood at the door, wincing to the intermittent noises beyond it. She glanced down at her son who seemed to have grown a full two inches overnight.

Henry perked his brows and indicated for her to just get it over with (for all their sakes).

Apparently, Regina did not sleep like the dead as their eleven-year-old son was famous for. Upon padding into her bedroom, Emma forgot the high-pitched scrape her lock made when it snapped shut.

Sheets ruffled and a strangled gasp followed Regina’s terrified demand, “What… what the hell are you doing?!”

Drawing a blank, Emma’s eyes blinked and fell inevitably to the satin, sleeveless nighty which accentuated some mighty fine assets.

“Get out!”

Emma didn’t have to be told twice. Widened eyes burned a trail in the floor as she made a lightning fast exit, slamming shut the door with enough force to rattle the door frame.

It went without surprise that Henry still stood in the hallway like a royal, pajama-clad sentry. Determined to quite literally push his parents together, he gave Emma a good shove for luck and slammed the door behind her.

Emma stumbled back in, heavily assisted by her son, and thereby rousing the dragon from her slumber yet again.

“Do you not understand English?” Regina rose halfway up to bark, “I said get out!”

Hands plastered against the door behind her, Emma simply smiled sheepishly. Her mind raced to snag coherent words to explain why she snuck into the den of a lethal woman whose magic has been caged within her for days.

_Nope. I got nothing._

To make matters worse, Emma was still hung up on the fact that the former mayor of Storybrooke was in her bed and sporting a perfectly mussed crop of hair. One of the shoulder straps of Regina’s pale pink nighty had been disturbed in her rousing and was near slipping off bare skin. How could anyone look that sexy at three AM? Emma stared, wetting her lips and wholly unaware of doing so. Disregarding the liability in sneaking up on a rudely awakened witch, Emma found herself stalled at the image of something she may have dreamt about once or twice or numerous times way, way, way back when.

_Regina’s in my bed. In MY bed._

“Emma!”

Her head snapped up. “What?”

Regina raised her brows expectantly.

“Oh, um… sorry. I was just on my way to the bathroom and heard something. Just came to see if everything was kosher…”

_And oh my god… what in the ever living… KOSHER?!_

While simultaneously chastising herself, Emma’s head continued to bob in accordance to her casual remark.

“Miss Swan,” sighed Regina who closed her eyes and shook her head slowly, “It’s late, I’m very tired, this room is stuffy, and I really do not need your blundering candor right now. Will you do me the service of leaving me in peace?”

“Didn’t sound all peaceful before I got here.” The scowl Emma earned made her lips twist into a yielding smirk. She shrugged. “Just saying. And if you need some air I can crack the window. It has a tendency to stick this time of year, but if I…”

Regina surged up quickly, mindful to keep the sheets pooled around her. “I don’t think that’s necessary – “

“There,” Emma said succinctly. “All better.”

“I hardly think the lack of fresh air is responsible for this sudden claustrophobia I’m feeling.”

“Oh, you meant me?”

“Bravo, dear.” Dimly impressed eyes rolled up and away. “You solved the riddle. Now will you please take yourself and your ever-so-sharp wit and exit from the premises?”

“Wow,” Emma drawled and crossed her arms, “you sure are cranky this time of morning.” The mock surprise in this historic discovery faded to curiosity. She panned down to frown at the carpet before pinning her eyes hesitantly on those of Regina. “Is it because of the nightmares?”

Regina’s head dipped slowly as the inflection in her voice ran threateningly. “That is really none of your concern.”

“Well, if it’s keeping me up at night it kind of falls to my attention. And do I have to remind you what your lack of sleep cost me last time? It’s just… do you want to talk about it? Are you, like, okay? Because you were moaning in your sleep, Regina.”

Blinking erratically, Regina managed to stutter out an offended, “Excuse me?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone has bad dreams.”

“But not everyone appreciates it being dissected. I am a grown woman and in no need of anyone to soothe the ghosts away.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I helped you with that.” Emma bit the inside of her cheek for bringing up such a horrific memory. If she wanted to put Regina’s mind at ease, reminding her of the wraith was the last thing that should have dropped from her stupid mouth. “Hey, I mean, you don’t have to disclose the details. If –“

“No!”

“Not even to me? Seriously, I’m not going to tell. I hardly think people care what you dream about. I sure d –“

“No!”

“Will you stop doing that? You sound like Henry. Christ, I’m trying to help you.”

“I don’t want nor need your assistant to get a good night’s sleep. If you really want to do some heroic deed, _get out_.”

Emma rolled her eyes and sighed as Regina sank back and rolled over, yanking the sheets up to her shoulder with a petulant huff. Torn between easing Henry’s worry and tucking tail out of there, Emma propped her back against the door tiredly. It wasn’t the most comfortable position as the uneven panels of the door dug into her spine, but it beat sitting on the bed like some sordid nursemaid.

_I always had a shitty bedside manner._

In a way, Emma felt partly to blame for the nightmares and that’s partly reason why she chose to stay. She forced Regina to live there, despite it being supported by a highly reasonable argument. The apartment had yet to be burglarized by her stalker, so it wasn’t like this arrangement existed for nothing. It wasn’t like Emma had been wringing her hands to an evil pretense. She hardly delighted at the idea of getting the woman into her home.

But since their rapport – fragile as it was – took a sickening turn and their subsequent agreement to trust the sheriff, things seemed to get better; the principal reason being Emma and Regina avoided one another. Succumbing to an overwhelming surge of magic and nearly killing someone in the process had a tendency to make things awkward, after all. Regina didn’t go as far as putting all her eggs in one basket. She couldn’t trust the sheriff completely, and she may never. However, when it came to the protection of their child they managed to make ends meet.

In the span of a week they had made certain concessions. Regina provided a detailed list of groceries for which Emma picked up and brought home. The responsibility of apartment cleanliness lied on the shoulders of those who spent the most time there, which meant Regina had to do most of the scrubbing, washing, dusting, etcetera while Henry flashed his puppy eyes and received the go-ahead to play video games. Armed with newly acquired ingredients, Regina threw together the most scrumptious of meals. Upon coming home to some pretty mouthwatering aromas, Emma hardly needed a verbal contract to induce the wide smiles and “thank you’s” the chef deserved.

That did not mean past grudges and faint bruises disappeared from memory. It always lingered at the backs of their minds, niggling away like an evil spirit that couldn’t be vanquished. There was still an uneasiness saturating their shared apartment.

“I’m sorry,” Emma whispered. She kept her head low, daring not to face the consequences of her disturbance. “There was a time not long ago when I let my anger get the best of me.” A sober chuckle slipped and she admitted, “I know that has a tendency to happen a lot around you. It’s just… it wasn’t okay that I blamed you for my problems.”

The mattress dipped, causing a muffled squeak in the springs to raise Emma’s attention. She peered through the shadows of her small bedroom, finding the bed’s occupant doused in blue moonlight. Emma held her gaze on the blanketed figure with an intensity that almost stoked the coals of her white magic. She drew in a breath and let it go in a slow exhale. Exempting the subtle shift of one leg, Regina continued to keep her back turned.

“When I got stuck in the Enchanted Forest it really pissed me off,” Emma went on as delicately as possible, despite the reminiscence of mud, trolls, bean stalks, and infernal dreamscapes oh my. Just at the thought of being back there again inspired her fists to clench. “Everything looked so unfamiliar and alien than my world; I didn’t have my stuff, my clothes, my family… Even my gun was worthless. And, you know, I’m not trying to project my issues on you. I get why you wanted your stuff from home. I get that now. And… I apologize for that other thing, too. I didn’t mean to accuse you of screwing up your own happy ending. I mean, it’s not _all_ your fault. We can’t always be the source of our own happiness.

“What I should have said was that you could open up a little bit to people, you know? Lean on someone you trust. Henry loves you. He’d do that for his mom. And Ruby, I think she kind of enjoys hanging out with someone who’s not as perfectly human as the rest of them. I’m sure it’s refreshing for you, too, even if you won’t admit it.” She chewed at her bottom lip, sorting out the rest of her speech – however spontaneous –in her mind. “Anyway, I hope you understand the reason for my outburst. It wasn’t necessarily directed at you. Sometimes I keep things bottled up so long and… Crap, why am I still talking?”

Emma laughed to herself and used the back of her finger to scratch at a brow in confusion and maybe a little embarrassment. Her cheeks were colored enough. She blew out an exasperated breath and tied it all up with a flick of her hand and, “I guess you’re just easier to talk to when you’re not insulting my sense of style or trying to knock my lights out.” She frowned then, tipping her head and staring vaguely ahead. “I always depend on myself to be happy…” Her confession dragged off. It had stewed in her mind for as long as she could remember but sounded altogether strange when rolled off her tongue.

Eventually, she snapped out of her reverie and cast the peculiar feeling off with a roll of the shoulder. She glanced to the unmoving, bedridden form, expecting the usual sarcastic retort.

“Regina?”

It was assumed through the explanation of boredom that had Regina knocked out on her pillow and snoring lightly. It didn’t occur to Emma at the time that a soft spoken apology was enough to lull the long tortured woman into a dreamless sleep.

Emma sank further into the door, head resting against it while taking comfort in a peaceful Regina. She couldn’t see much in the darkness except the steady rise and fall beneath a blanket Emma retrieved from Her Majesty’s castle.

_She’s so silent and passive. It’s a miracle._

At the sheen of golden dawn peeking through the open window, Emma’s relief dissipated. Soon the sun would rise along with Regina and bring another day, another restless trial punctuated by dark circles and an unwavering fortitude against aid.

If her parent’s experience was anything to go by, a genuinely thankful Regina wouldn’t emerge in this life or the next. It might never happen and Emma had to face that possibility and move on. It boded well for everyone if she just kept her nose to the grindstone and her heart out of the matter.

But not before one alarming phone call later that day.

* * *

Once bitten the Honeycrisp filled the mouth with a sweet, sunshine juice, but when suspended from a branch it took on a form so majestic it could hardly be plucked without consequence.

“Forbidden fruit.”

Mr. M’s dry chuckle echoed in his ears as he took in the apple tree with a hateful eye.

It had not flourished recently, its white blossoms having withered and curled at the edges and a few diseased branches in need of pruning. Mr. M was no gardener, but he could tell the mature apple tree was anxiously awaiting its owner’s gentle tending to.

Despite all this, the tree yielded fruit aplenty. A small, young thing could not thrive devoid of constant care, yet this tree proved to grow wise beyond its years. Mr. M went unknowledgeable of the tree’s history, but picked up on scraps of chatter: its complicated relationship with those that came in contact with it whether by chainsaw or through the eating of its fruit, and its most peculiar will to survive.

Like tangled thorny weeds, frustration ensnared him at the idea that something as trivial as a plant had a persistence rivaling that of its owner – its existence a cycle of birth, fruition, death, and rejuvenation.

His sneer lingered on the fortified branches mantled layer upon layer with bark. With his left hand he brandished the ax at his side, swinging it precariously low before pulling it back with both hands until the blunt side met his shoulder. Teeth clenched and sweat dripped from his brow as he posed like a grievous batter. His nails bit so hard into the handle his fingers ached. Premeditation, he found, was nearly as sweet as the deed.

A grunt sounded with the whoosh of the axe’s iron head. It came down hard and heavy on the bark made strong with time and care. A chainsaw wouldn’t do. He wanted to feel the mortal blade cut into the flesh of what she loved most.


	6. Chapter 6

The beautiful emerald set in a simple gold band knocked about the drawer. Within, the hand searched curiously – a bit frantically – for evidence of something. The fact that she hadn’t a clue what she so desperately wanted to find disturbed her more than not finding this “something.”

Lips pursed in frustration as she dug deeper, pushing items left and right before they caught her undue attention. She crouched down further so her view could reach the back of the drawer. She frowned at seeing the simple, strip of wood. Tsking once in defeat, she continued to search… and search… and search…

“What are you doing?”

Regina jumped and let out a squeak of surprise. She whirled to slam the drawer shut with her backside. The smooth move did not go unnoticed by her son. From the expression on his face Regina had to admit he was every bit his biological mother.

“What were you doing looking in Emma’s drawer?” he asked. His face was contorted in a semi-pout, eyes glowering under furrowed brows, chin tucked down, and lips pursed. His little hands were tucked under his armpits in a display of authority.

“I was doing no such thing.”

“You can stop lying. I saw you rummaging through her underwear drawer.”

“That wasn’t her –“ Her lips slammed shut.

_Damn._

“Sooo,” Henry drawled smartly, eyes gleaming with victory. “What are the details on Operation Bird Song? Can I join?”

“Operation what?”

“Operation Bird Song,” Henry repeated obviously. “Because Emma’s last name is Swan. Get it?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Cool.”

“But for what purpose is this operation for?”

“You should know: Emma,” the kid supplied matter-of-factly. The bed creaked under him when he flopped down. “Isn’t that the reason why you’re tearing her room apart? What is the plan?”

“Henry,” she sighed, “there is no plan. I was just… looking. I want to make sure –“

“She’s not a serial killer?” Henry finished.

“Henry, dear, that’s not what I was going to say. Miss Swan and I have had our differences, but I do not think of her like that. I just want to make sure you are safe. That’s all I’ve ever cared about.”

After spending nearly three whole weeks there she had a right to know what kind of filth she lived in. Even upon first entering the bedroom (back when she despised its owner) she was struck by how little there was, how few valuables and clothes lied in Emma’s possession. In addition to the framed photos of her son, she was pleased to find a locked safe which presumably held the sheriff’s handgun. It wouldn’t do to have weapons lying around her only child. At least with Regina’s firepower she owned a slightly more wary trigger finger (though Emma’s yellowing bruises begged to differ).

His head tipped and he stared at his mother strangely. “You’re curious.”

“I am protective,” she corrected. She smoothed down the comforter before sitting beside him. “So much has happened since you brought her here and since the curse broke… We do not know Miss Swan very well.”

“You’ve known Emma for two years, Mom. And I’ve lived with her and her parents, Snow White and Prince Charming, duh. And…” Henry looked down at his hands which were bidding their time with nonexistent dirt under his nails. He chewed his lip and glanced up hesitantly, murmuring, “And, well, she’s my mom, too, so I think we can trust her. She loves me.”

“I believe so too, but sometimes love isn’t enough.”

“She’s not evil.”

Regina felt the bluntness of the statement. It was hard to tell if that was a direct jab at her. Used to such a sentiment, she closed off the sharp pain in her chest. If he were older she would school him on the theory that one isn’t born evil but becomes evil through a series of ill-fated events. Emma may not be evil, but there was darkness in her like there was in every human being; each had a seed that may remain latent for life or may grow into a thorny thing capable of a great many wicked things. She did not like to think these things of Emma who remained the only _good_ parent left in Henry’s life. If something happened to Regina she had to have faith that Emma would take care of their son, which only explained half her reasoning for snooping through the woman’s room. Trust could only arise from hard evidence.

She shook her head, brushing the bangs from his face. “She’s your White Knight, as you so often call her. But, Henry, even knights have unpolished reputations. You can’t leave her on a pedestal forever. I’m not saying these things to discourage you. And as difficult as it is to work with Miss Swan I have acknowledged her right to see you as I claim the same. I just want to be sure…”

“You already are.” Henry tipped his head and peered through the debris of doubt orbiting his mother. “You wouldn’t be sure if you leave me alone with her half the time. Before the curse broke you wouldn’t keep me out of your sight with Emma around. Even when you couldn’t be you always had Sidney spying on us.”

“No I -!”

“Pretty sure you did,” Henry pointed out with a condescending eye. “I think we know each other well enough not to lie. After everything, we shouldn’t have to.”

“What are you saying, Henry?”

“You like, Ma.” And of course he meant _like_ like.

The impact was so monumental Regina had to reel back. She slid away from her son to give herself room to breathe. “No, I do not.”

“You don’t hate her. So what’s left?”

_Quite a bit. And not a single one worthy for a child’s ears._

“Why are you so adamant on my… tolerance of Miss Swan?”

“Do you really have to ask? Are you that blind?”

“Watch that tone,” she admonished. And then something slid into place. She shifted closer, laying a gentle hand on his knee. “Henry…” she frowned, covering her anxiety by roving her thumb over the jean material of his knee. “Sweetheart, is this about our arrangement with you? Before the car incident you had been acting awfully strange. I’ve been meaning to inform Miss Swan about it, but… considering my recent predicament and her investigation I have not had the time.” She noted his scrunched features as classic confusion curtesy of the Charming genes. “You hadn’t seemed very happy. I thought with you spending time with me on the weekdays and Emma taking you for the weekends… Isn’t that what you wanted? The point was that you could spend time with the both of us.”

“That’s the problem,” Henry sighed.

Henry liked “the arrangement” at first because after the troubling years of fighting and mistrust they all finally came to an understanding. However, after months of “the arrangement” the strain began to set in. Though highly valued in their hearts, he started to feel like a doll being passed back and forth. It was confusing and it hardly lived up to the life he envisioned with his parents. It frustrated him that he couldn’t have them both at the same time. He saw the way his moms looked at each other and how they tried so fruitlessly in hiding it and he knew they were too stubborn and proud to do anything about it. They were fast running out of reasons to despise one another, yet the idea of friendship seemed so out of their realm of possibility. Emma and Regina felt his frustration and waning excitement, he was sure of it. The honeymoon phase, it would seem, had ended.

At his mom’s frown he clarified, “I know some families don’t always live in the same house. I know about divorce and adoption and… other stuff…” he picked up speed over the narrowed eyes working through _that_ particular statement, “and I get that family isn’t just about where they sleep at night. It doesn’t really matter because family loves one another.”

Regina’s head rose and then slowly dipped as she arrived to his implication. “We are in a very unique situation, dear.” Her throat closed unexpectedly and it hardly fazed her because she hadn’t a clue as to what else to say.

“Actually, we aren’t.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“The internet.”

Her mouth gaped open, uncharacteristic for one of former political standing. Before Regina can lay into her son about the constraints she and Emma put on him regarding the world wide web, her severe reminder was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

It was David and his doe-eyed, frumpy wife.

The sounds of crinkling paper bags and tapping Tupperware meeting the countertop echoed up the stairs, alerting the Mills’ to their supply drop.

In his hustle out from the bedroom Henry was caught by the shoulder and fixed with a stern warning of, “This conversation is to be continued, young man.”

Donations of canned soup, pasta, fresh fruits and vegetables, and packaged raw meats littered the kitchen countertop. Regina hated when other people did something “nice” like this for her, like she was incapable of doing it herself (despite her circumstances), but downright _loathed_ it when “other people” were David and Mary Margaret.

“Hey, Regina. What’s going on?”

David was fashioning his usual complacent smile – not nearly as vacant as the expression on his wife’s face. Truthfully, if Regina had to choose between the two, David’s alarmingly neutral company won out. That was, if she had a gun to her head.

“I’m still here,” she droned back with a bored stare. “That’s what’s going on.”

His head bobbed nonchalantly like everything was fine… kosher… like he didn’t mind that his former sworn enemy lived under his daughter’s roof. Regina clenched over a seething retort to his… his obnoxious likeness to his spawn and sashayed into the kitchen as if she owned the place.

Without preamble she slapped away the petite hands, gathered up a few canned foods, and turned her back on the glowering young thing. This may not exactly be her home, but she’d be _damned_ if Snow White touched her groceries. As Regina sorted each item to their proper shelf (labels facing out) she felt the pair of eyes burn into her back. Mary Margaret could glare to her heart’s content, but Regina would go about the routine she picked up recently. The never-ending hours of boredom freed up the anticipation to do something with her hands, anything to keep her busy. Stocking and organizing the kitchen became that something, which quickly turned into an unexpressed hobby. Keeping order made her happy and that was all there was to it. Emma’s mother didn’t have to like it because it wasn’t her house anymore. More importantly, Emma seemed just tickled that her new houseguest took pains to find a home for every carton, can, and carrot stick.

Her smile died just when she turned. Regina quickly schooled her features into her normal frown before that pea-sized brain could inquire.

“You are not working today.”

After a casual shake of his head David supplied Regina with the assurance a little birdy insisted he carry out. “Everything’s been fine at the station. Emma gave me the day off – said she needed some quiet time.”

Regina’s tone remained low. “I hope the sheriff hasn’t abandoned the investigation.”

“Not at all. Last time I checked she was using my desk as an evidence dumping ground. Apparently Emma has more paper trails than desks to support them.” David smiled softly. “Must be a good sign.”

A stern, feminine chin rose up and then down in a slow nod. If Emma hadn’t arrived home every night after seven since her stalker’s car stunt it _must_ be a good sign. The sheriff had to be occupied relatively severely if her investigation kept her from home so often. Regina suddenly remembered the lingering limp in the blonde’s right leg and swallowed hard.

She asked above the crack in her voice. “She hasn’t been overworking herself, has she?”

Sensing something foul amiss, Mary Margaret perked up, casting them each a frown.

“This is Emma,” he replied flatly. “If she’s not tracking down coffee and donuts or keeping hell itself from you and Henry… Storybrooke wouldn’t be as safe as it is now.”

Regina’s face contorted into a curiously devastating frown. She looked away from David’s blue eyes – calm as the sea and so damned straightforward – and hummed in soft agreement.

That was all the time she would commit to his company. As far as Mary Margaret’s… well, if she continued to look at her with those questioning eyes Regina might “accidentally” let her magic slip.

Once offering David a murmured farewell and his bride a displeased sniff, she walked a wide birth around the woman and stalked back up to her room.

Regina had little patience for visitors even when it occurred in someone else’s home. The princely deputy always arrived of his own free will and offered to play a game of cards or watch a movie. Typically, Regina sulked upstairs, perched on the bed like some camper waiting for the rodents to exit her tent. The only joy taken from a Charming visit was the laughter of her son giving his grandfather a beating in Gin Rummy.

And then there was Mary Margaret who so obviously dragged her feet. It wouldn’t surprise Regina if she came at the behest of her husband. The likelihood made her lip curl in disdain. She would take their generous gifts of food and supplies when Emma and Ruby hadn’t the time, but her patience stopped at pity. If David wanted to come spend time with Henry then that was fine. What did not sit well with her was his insistence that the bird-talking broad came too. Like Mary Margaret ever cheered her up.

So while the Charmings had their grand old time Regina continued to lurk upstairs. After a few sporadic days of this she realized the only thing worse than their grating voices was being cooped up alone in a room. She had already been confined to the apartment. Why would she allow herself to be so easily shooed away? It was her every right to move about that house however she liked, whenever she saw fit.

Regina was slowly getting used to being in the same room – or, specifically, the same floor – with the wedded rodents. Selective hearing became her specialty as did a boorish aversion to Mary Margaret’s story voices. Honestly, one would think Snow White could perfect the flappable, home-maker façade associated with her Disney character.

_Honestly._

Altogether grateful that they lived elsewhere, Regina treasured the moment David and Mary Margaret ceased testing her waning tolerance. She could be hopeful for that door to shut behind them and to spend what remained of the day with her son. She was glad for his presence with or without his grandparents. He kept her level-headed, a skill no one on earth could hold a candle to.

Feet dressed in generic black socks ambled down the grated stairway. Hazarding a glance to the living room, Regina found her son to be in bright spirits and so committed herself to the same. She smoothed down the crinkles in her casual black slacks and rolled the sleeves of her sweater up to her elbows.

While Henry talked and read with his grandmother Regina consigned herself to the kitchen and all its stocked delights. She leaned back on the edge of the counter, staring at the cabinets and in deep contemplation of what to put on the table that night. Over the grating, entitled voice echoing from the living room Regina forced a smile and headed for the fridge, intent on preparing something far less garish and hypocritical for Emma to come home to.

***

The ends of darkened blonde hair trailed the surface of the dinner table. A few brushes were all it took for it to leave behind a wet puddle and an angry red tinge to cheeks. At the risk of darkening her mood, Regina let it go and reminded herself that the chipped and peeling table was not _hers_ but the wet dog making a soggy mess of it.

Regina would never describe herself as a clingy individual, but she found her mood changing upon Emma’s return. Earlier, David and Mary Margaret had put a serious dent in her day, forcing Regina to desire the sheriff’s company against her will. Emma responded differently around her parents than she did with others. She was a bit reticent to the affection her mother and father lavished on her and the overwhelming attention and questions about her life. In that, Regina could hardly blame Emma for shying away. In fact, sometimes she would chastise herself for wanting to use the young woman to escape the Charmings. Every so often Regina spotted the green eyed winces when Mary Margaret enveloped arms around the bony frame. Emma once caught her eavesdropping on this torturous event and performed an exaggerated spitting out of hairs from her mother’s sweater. It made Regina smile.

Yes, against her will indeed.

That day her visitors were especially adamant on staying for dinner so they could engage in cuddly conversation with their grown woman of a daughter. Regina insisted on the alternative and was startled when they eventually complied. Their departure left her in a stewing mood. She was happy to be left in peace, though her earlier conversation with David generated a sullenness in her. Add to that the strange accusation from her son and Regina fell into a stupor.

According to the clumpy, pale sauce, melancholy and cooking did not mix. Regina had cursed under breath at leaving it simmer unattended. Honestly, how could one insignificant, unbearable woman have this kind of hold on her? It made her furious to be rendered inert at Henry’s mere suggestion and at David’s confidence in their town sheriff.

That all changed when the chiming of keys sounded and the door squeaked open to a very early Emma.

“This was good, Mom.”

“Thank you. If you’re finished you can take your plate to the sink and then bring over the dessert your grandparents brought.”

Henry scrubbed his napkin over his mouth before hopping out of his chair. “’kay!”

The tines of her fork scooped up the last of her meal and deposited it between her lips. Regina kept her head low and from under her lashes spied a glance across the table. Emma had remained uncharacteristically mute. She was not in her usual spirits, especially over this painstaking meal. Unbeknownst to Emma, Regina actually looked forward to the entertainment performed by the other two wherein Emma and Henry competed to hum the loudest notes of approval at their master chef’s skills.

However, that night heard no such ‘oos’ and ‘mms’ falling from Emma’s lips.

Since arriving two hours early and without explanation as to why, the sheriff kept her head low for most of the night. With the exception of a “hey” to both Regina and their son, her mouth hadn’t uttered a peep. She stayed mum even upon demands to why her arrival carried with it the reek of apples and smoke. All Emma gave her was an unreadable expression before retreating upstairs for a shower.

Regina looked back down at her clean plate and wrinkled a nose. The smell of burnt apples still tainted her nostrils, causing a prickle of a tear in the corner of her eye. A deep sigh snapped her attention up. Emma propped herself up with an elbow on her placemat. Her soap scented hand molded to her forehead in woebegone fashion as she scraped her fork through a puddle of mushroom and white wine sauce. No matter how low Regina ducked to catch the expression, the face as well as the origins of Emma’s impassivity remained well hidden.

After unsticking her forehead from a clammy palm, Emma met Regina’s eyes for the first time that night and as if stirred to life by the dark brown gaze she finally spoke up.

“Henry,” Emma cleared her throat, “can you give your mom and I a minute?”

Instead of obeying, the boy sat in the quizzical tension, looking from one end of the table to the other. He raised a brow. This kind of staring contest going on between his parents was not a regular occurrence. In fact, it felt horrendously climactic in that way he shouldn’t be aware of.

A hearty throat clearing from his mom snapped him out of it. He answered Regina’s prod with that nonverbal cue they had perfected those eleven years. Not really wanting to be privy of what sparked this intensity between his moms, Henry abstained from cleaning the crumbs from his plate and left them to their… gazing.

Following the close of a door, Emma made a silent request by shifting her eyes to the couches across the apartment. “If you’re not finished –“

“No,” Regina put in. It occurred to her the swiftness with which she said it may not have been necessary and so dropping her napkin and rising from her chair she corrected in a not-so-obviously earnest voice, “No, I am finished. Let’s talk in the living room.”

The couch, permanently molded to a runner’s physique, sagged under Emma with a pathetic wheeze. “I don’t know where to begin.” The pleading was subdued by hands which were on her face like a shield to life’s ruin.

“You look like you could use a drink, dear.”

“Really? Because that would be –“ She jumped to the cool glass brushing against her knuckle. “Oh… thanks.” Emma took the proffered drink with an eye of gratitude and examined the contents. “This isn’t…?”

“Miss Lucas repossessed a bottle or two from my liquor cabinet.” Regina continued to stand with drink in hand while her other settled on a cocked hip. “With my permission, of course.”

“You’re fucking with me. You let _Ruby_ into your house _unattended_?”

“I assure you, Miss Swan, I have not been _fucking_ with anyone lately and if I wanted to it would not be with you.”

Startled, Emma jerked her head back and fitfully batted her eyelids.

_Did she just…?_

They hadn’t yet dived into their second drink and things were already getting heated. Like Emma could have expected an asinine remark would be repaid with one in return and from the prim and proper former mayor. There must have been some serious cabin fever syndrome going on if Regina was behaving with uncustomary lip.

“Th-that’s not really what I meant, but okay. Thanks for clearing _that_ up.” Emma sulked back into her drink, muttering, “I’m flattered.”

“I trust her.”

“Huh?”

“The waitress,” Regina clarified indignantly. She was hopeful the dull tone in Emma’s grunt would not lead to an interrogation. For some unspeakable reason she felt compelled to put it out there. As foreign as the word “trust” sounded to her ears and felt in her heart, her tongue spoke truth.

“The waitress has a name.”

“I know.”

“Okay, so you trust Ruby. How does that happen?”

“I don’t know, Miss Swan. I’m still trying to sort out why I trust you and your tragic excuse of a safe house.”

“Hang on,” a pale hand gestured for stoppage “are you telling me you _do_ feel safe? Because that would be…”

“Yes? Because that would be what?”

The devastating realization lingering on Emma’s face began to spark worry. One minute she was all pluck and irritation and the next her eyes fell with her crumbling features.

“What is this about?” Regina gestured vaguely to the living room. “You haven’t been yourself since coming home. You actually came early for dinner for a change.” Emma’s refusal to answer caused a buried pang to set in. Regina’s expression grew ashen as an overcast sky. She raised a hand to her mouth. “Is this about Henry? Is he in danger?”

“…No.”

“You’re hesitance fails to convince.”

The edge of Emma’s hand went out to clear the air. “I’m about 99 percent sure he is not in any danger, alright? This has nothing to do with him,” she assured.

“So please care to inform me. Specifically, I might add and not with nonsensical grunts and pleading eyes. That doesn’t work on me, Miss Swan. My magical powers do not grant me with mind reading abilities. Now finish the rest of your drink and start from the beginning.”

“Well…”

“Oh, no. This is not about your mother, is it? Did she call you today to complain? That damn woman can’t keep her nose out of my business!”

“Regina!” The force of Emma’s glass clanging to the end table had its meager contents sloshing over the lip. If she were in a lighter mood the little jump Regina made at the shout of her name would have amused her. “You wanted me to explain, so will you give me the courtesy of shutting up?!”

“I would love to if you would give me some indication that the news applies –“

“Your tree is gone!”

After a beat, Regina sputtered, “Absurd.” A lethal frown leveled her face as she shook her head. “A tree does not simply disappear into thin air. Not unless it is cursed to a new location and as far as I’m concerned no such thing has occurred on my watch.”

“I don’t mean it’s gone as in disappeared, but gone as in dead.”

Burnished brown eyes narrowed coolly to the assertion. “This little chat has not been humorous. I do not recall ever having been amused by your wit, so refrain from beating a dead horse. You are unwise in playing this game, Miss Swan.”

“I wouldn’t lie. I know how much it means to you.”

“That is rich coming from you.” The snap of glass on wood sounded as Regina deposited her drink next to its companion. “After that stunt with the chainsaw? Do you know how long it took me to –“

“The station received several tips today. They all reported the same thing: a heavy black smoke. I didn’t think much of it at first. In all likelihood it could have been someone burning leaves. But then Marco called. He had taken Pongo off Archie’s hands that day and was taking a walk down Mifflin Street. He saw the smoke and followed it to your backyard.”

“You’re serious.”

Emma wasn’t looking when Regina spoke, but according to the slight tremble in the voice she figured the woman was about to fall to pieces – over a _tree_. She knew better to treat the situation with nothing less than delicate hands. Hence the bludgeoning remorse she had carried with her all day. Preparing to deliver bad news to a magically fragile individual was not a simple feat, nor something to carry out brazenly. It also frightened Emma that her anxiety over revealing the news was not due to the danger the witch posed but the devastation that would inevitably cloud Regina’s eyes.

“He… he hacked it to pieces,” Emma said, which probably wasn’t the wisest choice of words, “and burned the rest. I smelled gasoline when I arrived, so that explained why it got consumed so fast. I swear, Regina, if I had gotten there sooner… I…”

_What? What would I have done?_

Emma looked up for answers. None were found.

“Mr. M,” the name detached from Regina’s lips. No emotion, not even anger.

“Yeah.” White-knuckled fists met, wrist to wrist. Emma’s thumbs settled gently against her lips as if to temper whatever obscenities struggled to get out. “He didn’t leave a note or anything. In case you were wondering.”

“I should think the death of my tree is warning enough. Burning my property is just one step away from executing me at the stake.”

Emma gave a spiteful huff. “Some message.”

From the corner of her eye she saw the head turn. She could feel the eyes on her, but with what reaction? Whatever Regina was feeling towards Emma, the quiet stare alone made her stomach twist in knots. Maybe she had no right to feel angry. It wasn’t _her_ tree that caught in flames. _She_ didn’t have her very own stalker. No one could know the hell Regina was in – death threats over the phone and on obscure scraps of paper, getting nearly run off a bridge, finding out her prized tree had been chopped and burnt to a crisp.

“Now before you go putting my head on a spit hear me out. I took the liberty of clearing the… the remains. I’m sure that’s something you would have wanted to do yourself, but there wasn’t much left and I didn’t want to risk you running into that asshole if he returned to the scene.”

What did not get divulged was the fact that it took the whole afternoon to clear out the debris. It had been a royal mess. Afterwards, the pungent smell of smoke surrounded Emma’s entire body including her throbbing head. The thought of returning to the station boded ill. She did not want to be reminded of all the dead ends in her investigation or the scant evidence Mr. M left behind in the ashes. The thought of going home and meeting oblivious brown eyes was even less appealing.

Emma focused on the dirt encrusted under her nails and in her cuticles and tried to remember what the apple tree looked like before it had been hacked to pieces. Try as she did, all that flashed before her were the singed and smoking branches and the wounds made with a ferocity that the person must have imagined cutting down the tree’s owner.

Shattered by the news and angry that she could not bid her tree farewell, Regina caved to the sofa and beside Emma. Her whole weight nearly went with the sigh. She certainly felt the magnitude of her stalker’s recent threat, but felt too numb to respond with anything but a well of tears in her eyes.

A hand fumbled behind her, fingertips brushing the small of her back. Emotionally drained, she allowed the gesture as well as the pleasant shudder instilled by its gentleness.

“You can’t know what it meant to me.”

Yet she knew Emma did. It was apparent in the way she carried herself. The head hung all through dinner, her restraint in sharing the news, the lingering smell of burnt apples. It must have been quite a clean-up if the stain endured so strongly.

The fact that Emma passed on the opportunity to grace the inaccuracy with her usual flame-cheeked doggedness proved just how mutual the understanding between them rested, like a slumbering child.

But there were some secrets a queen reserved to herself. That tree held a symbolic place in her heart. When Regina lived at the palace of her deceased husband she thought…

_I thought it would be the only thing to grow old with me._

The warmth spreading from the hand at her back pulled her to the present. She blinked, failing to catch the single drop.

“Hey, look on the bright side. At least your house didn’t catch fire.” A smile endeavored to cheer Regina up until Emma was subsequently shoved. She let out a startled, “Whaa - ?!”

She probably deserved that.

Roughly offset by the push, Emma regained her equilibrium to a difficult degree. Mildly put, the sagging couch didn’t let balance succeed without a few clumsy moves on her part. Not long after finding her poise, Emma felt the gentle weight of a head on her shoulder.

“Thank you.”

* * *

Grimy footprints trailed across the red and white checkered floor. At half past eight in the morning the hardware store saw few customers. Storybrooke citizens worked normal nine to five jobs, and at this time they were too busy driving to work to witness their town’s notorious prowler enter the store.

Stopping in the paint, primer, and stain aisle, Mr. M made a casual review of what was in stock. Luckily, the shelves had what he needed. The one item on his list went without specifics and, frowning, Mr. M dallied over just which of the dozen versions before him would do. It would have to stand out for what he had in store for her.

Once his selection was made he checked out at the register. The associate barely made eye contact before handing over a few bills and coins as change. Taking the bag with a smile and a “have a good one” Mr. M exited the store the same way he came in: inconspicuous and eager to proceed.

He piled into the white Ford F-150. If it weren’t for the gravel stuck in the tires and mud splashed on the wheel wells the truck would have been mistaken for brand new.

He tossed his recent purchase on the passenger seat and stared at the contents for a moment. He smiled, licking his teeth. It would be the perfect follow up to a tree slaying. A message no one would forget.


	7. Chapter 7

“Hey, guys!”

Emma’s greeting bounded through the apartment with not a peep in return.

_Some reception._

“Is anyone here?” she asked, despite knowing full well the restrictions that kept her housemates from leaving. At some point _someone_ had to crack a joke at the expense of their situation or they all might have gone mad. She smirked lightly and lugged her baggage over the threshold. “I brought lunch!”

Not a minute later there came a bounding of feet. Emma cringed to the subtle whine in the aged ceiling. Henry clattered down the steps in record time and launched into the kitchen like a shipwrecked sailor who hadn’t seen a good meal in days.

“You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

Without further ado his hands dove for the take out bags. “I haven’t!” Henry puffed breathlessly.

“Right,” Emma drawled with a roll of her eyes.

A softer padding of feet descended, bringing with it the oddly peaceful countenance of their third patron.

“Regina,” the blonde greeted. With arms hugging the groceries which piled up to her chin, she settled for a courteous nod.

A tight-lipped hum in return and then the neutral, “You are well?”

“Awesome, now that my kid has revealed my importance in his life. Apparently I’m only good for supplying food and video games.”

“He will grow out of it.”

Lips smacking against bitter medicine, Emma’s features contorted in revulsion. “They all say that.”

Barely aloof, Regina’s eyebrows rose. “Who is ‘they,’ dear?”

“I don’t know. People.”

Now it was Regina’s turn to roll her eyes. The sound of Henry tearing into lunch brought her over to the counter where he hunched over, mouth watering, and eyes glazed over. She plucked at the top of one of the unopened lunch bags (the least soggy with grease) with a hesitance hardly foreign these past few weeks. From experience she knew Emma to make at least one screw up in their order. Pulling the seams open, she peered at the contents.

After hearing the dissatisfied sniff, Emma dropped the last sack of groceries on the counter and fixed Regina with exasperation. Pleasing the former mayor was like trying to please a brick wall. “Something not up to your standards, Your Majesty?”

Regina gave a sigh. “It’s perfectly substandard.” She turned with little warning and proceeded upstairs with a nonchalant swing of her hips.

“Hey! Where are you going? I thought we could all have lunch together.”

“I have to powder my nose.”

Henry snickered over his sandwich and was subsequently slapped lightly upside the head.

“You look fine!” groused Emma. Her hand went to snag a fry, but Henry thwarted her with a slap of his own. “The kid’s useless, so will you please help? The sooner we put this stuff away the sooner we can dig in!” She then glared at the kid stuffing his face. “You’ll get sick if you don’t stop eating that fast. Just fair warning.”

The second floor creaked as Regina paused at the top of the railing, tossing Emma a withering eye. “I’m _sure_ you can manage a few bags of groceries.”

Emma lingered on the subtle creases in smiling brown eyes before they disappeared from view. She sagged and mumbled, “But I like your system.”

In fact, everyone seemed to like Regina’s system. She always knew the best way to arrange the fridge so everything was within reach and she could categorize every non-perishable in such a manner that begged a college degree. There wasn’t a single trace of expired chow, proving not a soul to have fallen sick from curdled milk. Regina may be confined to an apartment subjected to her daily condemnation, but everyone knew the kitchen was her palace.

“Emma!”

The groceries fell to the floor with a crash, milk mingling with egg yolks. Boots clomped in quick succession until Emma arrived, gun drawn and safety off. Standing in the doorway she saw in horror at what had been left by the stalker.

“I was only gone for a minute!” Regina cried, the panic evident in her voice. “H-how could…?” The hand clutching her forehead dropped to her open mouth.

“Get to Henry’s room. Stay there until I come get you.” Instead of quick steps moving away, Emma heard them trailing after her. “What did I say?!”

“You will not stand in my way, Miss Swan!”

The deep, booming voice caused Emma to stumble back. Blinking, she made a split-second decision to obey the command. Whether it was prohibited by the sheriff, the FBI, the CIA, or Congress Regina was not going to be stopped.

Outside they stood shoulder-to-shoulder and necks craned. It was hard to miss; the blood red dribbling down the window panes and the message it provoked struck them both deeply. The words were spray painted on Emma’s (now Regina’s) window in audacious print. It had been written boldly enough that the _B_ and _CH_ overlapped the brick on either side and displayed as bright as a neon sign. And it was all for Storybrooke to see.

_Burn the witch._

Emma felt the shudder beside her and consequently felt the same shake within her. She swallowed over the lump in her throat. She was now faced with the likelihood that she could not protect Regina anymore. The situation had escalated out of her control. Emma had lost ground in the case. Her and David’s efforts ended in vain at every turn. If the message written in fake blood were anything to go by, Regina might have to pay the price for the sheriff’s failure.

“Hey, um, let’s get back in the house.”

Hustling Regina from the crowd of onlookers went without difficulty. The shock made her frightfully docile and unnaturally quiet. By the time they entered the apartment they were both able to take a deep breath.

“What’s wrong?” demanded Henry. His eyes shifted warily between the two and widened at Regina’s arm which complied in Emma’s vice grip. “Is Mom okay?”

“I’m fine, sweetheart. Please, just… stay where I can see you.”

Henry went out to take the hand in his. He felt the iron squeeze, but hid the grimace. This was not the time to chicken out. His mother needed his support and his physical presence. If there was any time to act like a hero this was it.

When Emma returned from upstairs she had the crinkled note in hand. She looked up from the message, her footfalls slowing before grinding to a halt at the sight of the embrace. Her lungs shuddered with her inhale as she watched Regina stroking fingers through their son’s hair, a chin dimpling as it pressed to the crown of his head.

Henry’s head turned so that his ear lay against her. “I’m not hurt.”

Emma barely made out the muffled reassurance and her vision still managed to blur with tears. It that moment Emma realized how mutual their need of each other ran. She needed them as much as they needed her. Protecting them was not a choice. It was a job, one that would never end.

_I can’t fail. Not this. Not when there is so much at stake._

The heartbreaking exchange of “I love yous” nearly brought Emma to her knees. She would have been okay with the embarrassing display. Better collapse at her feet than run the opposite way.

It was then at the sign of a teetering figure that brought Regina’s attention up. Slowly retracting her arms from the comfort Henry so willingly offered, she gave him a gently push towards the living room.

“Emma and I need a moment alone, dear.”

“But I want to be involved. I can help. Just let me!”

“You have already been more than helpful,” Regina said, eyes melting at the display of heroism. “You have been wonderful. So be a good boy now and allow the sheriff and I some privacy.”

Henry had been sweet talked before, but considering the menace at hand the implication of her pleading rang differently. This was not about giving his moms a moment to verbally berate each other. She did not hurry him off so that she could enact some self-interested curse the moment his back was turned. And it was more than a simple matter of his safety. This was more than a child could comprehend, even for one as attentive as Henry Mills.

“What does it say?” Regina asked, when he was outside of earshot. Her attention dropped from the note to the floor. “I was too startled at the time to read it.”

The bashful admission was hardly commonplace for the former mayor, and it became clear from her diverted gaze how uncomfortable it must have been to confess it. Emma, brushing off her own astonishment, handed over the note.

Regina seized it with trembling hands, took in a deep breath, and read.

_It’s a pity you never saw the appeal in a scorched earth policy when you were in power. I hope you liked the example I made of your tree. I’m sure this town would have preferred a burning effigy of their queen instead. But all in good time._

It was signed by the enigmatic “Mr. M.” The paper and scripted ink used were ordinary as if the message was something as simple as a grocery list. It begged the question of just who they were dealing with: someone indifferent enough to their plight to scribble it down on whatever lied about or someone with the combined delusional minds of Jefferson and Sidney Glass who chose their instruments with forethought.

“You would think they would want to write on something with more flair, something that would stand out. This is just pencil on scrap.”

“Well, dear, I’m sure the message outside my window made up for the flourish this note lacked.”

“I’m just saying. The way it was written… maybe we’re just dealing with a misbehaving kid.”

“Are you telling me a _minor_ rear-ended my Mercedes and nearly ran myself and my son over a bridge? Would you really categorize that as misbehaving?”

“No and no.” Emma squared her jaw and planted her hands firmly on her hips. “But do you think disproving any possible clue is going to help? I’m trying to think outside the box here, Regina. Maybe the reason why I haven’t caught the guy yet is because I’m focusing on the wrong person. What if we’re talking about more than one stalker? What if there’s an accomplice? A kid, _maybe_ , who could get in and out of houses without being caught.”

“This is not the work of a truant teenager or some disgruntled, criminal duo. There is a consistency to the perpetrator’s actions. These intimidations are different from all the other threatens I have had to face since the curse broke. Once some dimwitted peasant is caught red-handed they come to their senses and stop. Whoever has been threatening me for the past month has a serious contention against me. They persist in coming after me, whether I change my locks, move, or sleep with a gun under my pillow. Now I find another note and some fake blood on my window and you want to consider a troop of little urchins? My _tree_ is dead, Miss Swan. I fear for my life and that of my own child. Honestly, what kind of sheriff are you?”

Already waving her hands before the speech ended, Emma closed her eyes and held a finger out. “Before we get to that, can we back it up a bit? The gun,” she stated with a stony frown. “What is it doing in your bed?”

“Well, I’m not supposed to be using magic now, am I?”

“Christ, Regina!” Hands flew to blonde locks, clutching carelessly before throwing forward to explain. “I meant that you don’t use it to pin me against a wall! I never said you couldn’t use your powers to protect yourself! How did you even get a gun in the house? You’re not supposed to leave.”

“I liberated the spare gun from your closet. And before you ask, no, I did not use magic to open it. I guessed the combination. Honestly, dear. Henry’s birth date? Anyone even remotely interested in breaking into your home could deduce that.”

Utterly flabbergasted at the thought that Regina went rummaging through her things, Emma snapped her jaw shut and hardened her stare. One disaster at a time. “You stole my gun?”

“ _Borrowed_.”

“Without asking.” At the indicating brow raise Emma waved a hand and sputtered, “Alright. Keep it. Just be sure the safety is engaged _at all times_.”

“Now that we have that settled can we please return to the part about you being incompetent at your job? What sheriff lives in a home that can be broken into? Especially when she has two people under her protection, one of whom has become a frequent target.” Regina closed in on Emma if not to disclose the severity of her words than to prevent their son from overhearing. “Not only is he aware that I have been inhabiting here, but he left this note in the precise location where I would see it. How could he know that? Explain to me how he knows where I sleep.”

“If you’re thinking someone talked, I can stop you right there, Regina. My parents may not be overjoyed about you being here, but they wouldn’t risk your life over a tiresome feud. If you don’t believe that, at least trust that endangering you would endanger their grandson. And Ruby wouldn’t rat you out. She’s your friend.”

“I don’t have friends, Miss Swan. This is exactly why.”

_Betrayal. Jealousy. Friendship is never worth it._

“He could have just as easily used a ladder to find out where you sleep. It’s probably how he was able to leave the artwork on your window.”

“Oh,” Regina said dryly, “comforting thought.” Her hand flourished up and about while she emphatically drove on. “It’s not like I don’t have nightmares to deal with. Now I have to worry about who is lurking from outside the window!”

“Hey! I’m living here too. You ever think _I_ might not like getting watched by some creepo? This is not all about you, Regina. Quit the pity party.”

“What gives you the right? I’m the one being hunted!”

“You’re not the only witch around here, you know. Just whom do you think that message was directed against would you say? I’m about as liable for burning as you are. I’ve been defending you since we played bejeweled _nuclear freaking_ blitz and saved the town!” hissed Emma with a finger jabbed in the general direction of the clock tower. “Your psychopathic stalker sees me protecting you and he puts _me_ down on his ‘To Burn’ list. So _I’m_ _sorry_ if you think I shouldn’t be concerned over my own skin. I’m sorry I’m not ‘witch,’” she emphasized with wiggling fingers and mocking wide eyes, “enough to poof into thin air like you. I can’t protect myself with my own power, but I’ll be damned if I get targeted because of this freaking white light shit inside me.”

“One protection spell and a few sparks of magic do not make you Hermione Granger. You are not that special, Miss Swan.”

“Who the _fuck_ is Hermione Granger?”

“Read a book,” scolded Regina and narrowing her eyes in reprimand for swearing near their son. Henry, thankfully, had the good sense to get submerged in a boisterous new video game. Dripping with superiority, Regina folded her arms in light of her sound advice. She caught Emma’s rolling eyes and added, “And not that deplorably smutty excuse of a genre.”

That certainly wiped the look off Emma’s face. It was now replaced with anything but humor. “H-hey, that’s my property! Keep your paws off my stuff!”

“I do apologize.” Partially amused by Emma’s indignant stumble and partially aroused by the apple red flush her accusation brought to the once pale cheeks, Regina guarded her smirk before resuming harshly, “I assumed living in your bedroom was fair game and all. And with it lying in the open I couldn’t resist a little romance between two women of different social classes.” Her eyes rolled in condescension. “Really, has the author even heard of Shakespeare? It is a complete knock off of _Romeo and Juliet_.”

“If my choice of reading material is so deplorable then how do you know so much about the plot?”

“I read the jacket, dear.”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “I think you did more than that.”

“What are you insinuating?” Regina cocked her head, unaware how wide her eyes were growing.

“Forget it.” The lump concealed behind Emma’s flushed throat wobbled over her gulp. “Let’s just get back to your stalker.”

“Oh, thank you for reminding me how incompetent this town’s justice system is. If you come away with anything from this conversation, Miss Swan, understand this: I have endured months of harassment at the hands of people who used to bow down to me. I have abstained from magic because my son has asked it of me and, still, it is not enough for them.” Regina’s eyes narrowed finely into Emma’s as she began to back her into a figurative and quite literal corner of the dining room. “As of late I have been followed by a very special someone, my house has been trespassed and burglarized, my yard burned and my tree destroyed, my child threatened and nearly killed, and you have nothing that would lead you to the culprit responsible?” On her final step she jabbed Emma in the shoulder with the tip of her index finger. “ _You_ and your father are a sorry excuse for law enforcement!”

“I realize the situation has gotten out of hand –“

“You think?”

“ – But this is not the time to freak out. Seriously, Regina. Our son needs you to pull it together. _I_ need you to pull it together. We’re all scared here. I know how much he loves you and I’ll be damned if I let this psycho take you away from him.” Emma attempted to prove it by settling her hands on the tense shoulders, but was thwarted by a shove. “Uh-uh.” She shook her head, gritted her teeth, and struggled valiantly to still Regina. “No one gets to fight with you but me. If you go off on your own it’s you I’ll be worrying about, not the investigation.”

The struggle stalled with Regina’s sinking shoulders. Her eyes landed on Emma’s heroic green, finally. She found it hard to escape their pull, so consequential and inviting. The overwrought muscles in her limbs relaxed in Emma’s grip, which eased to the softness swirling back to Regina’s features. No, not relaxed – _weakened_. The warning which steadily became a reality whenever in Emma’s presence competed with the horror of her nightmares. With Henry it was different. He was her son. She was supposed to love him. With Emma it was wrong. Not that it _felt_ wrong, unfortunately, but that it _should_ be wrong.

_I hate you for what you’re doing to me._

“Listen,” Emma’s eyes remained downcast as she allowed Regina choice to retreat a step, “in light of what’s happened I think you should put a barrier enchantment around the building.”

Regina’s retort caught behind parted lips. Emma never failed to impress. She may trip over those ridiculous boots on her way to a brilliant idea, but the idiot got there eventually. While the awkward manner in which she arrived at a destination hardly surprised Regina, what struck her dumbfounded was her confidence in heartily spoken convictions. She never doubted a mother’s love for her child, even when her own mother lacked a heart. The fact that Emma could never go without hers suggested a broader range of forgiveness and more room to receive as there was to give. Emma was a great many things: a mother, a daughter, a friend, a savior, but she was growing to be a _something_ to Regina and an unfathomable something at that.

With eyes dancing over the dependent face of her protector and sheriff, Regina nodded.

* * *

The self-professed Mr. M made his first error upon encroaching the sheriff’s domain.

Emma was outside, examining the exterior where the message still hung when she noticed the mud prints. The ground squelched underfoot and had been made pliantly soft by last night’s rainfall. Kneeling at the base of the building Emma spotted the two indentations made less than a foot apart. She craned her neck to conclude the prints aligned perfectly with Regina’s window.

“The ladder.” Using her phone she snapped a photo of where the ladder’s feet made an impression. “I got you, you son of a bitch.”

Normally, ladder prints wouldn’t be cause for celebration. Boot prints were ideal, though due to the dragging patterns made by the perpetrator there could be no clear print worthy as evidence. It wasn’t anything to get excited over, but it was evidence and it was something. At this point, Emma would take anything. If there was a chance it could lead her to put away this creep she would take that measly ladder print.

With the key evidence saved on her cell phone, Emma borrowed the superintendent’s ladder in ascending to the crime scene. The paint, in its angry red state, came dry to the touch which led her to believe it was made by a fast drying spray.

She cursed herself for letting it get this far. The bolded intentions of Mr. M stood out in stark contrast to the brick apartment, proving that anyone could threaten the town’s sheriff and the former Evil Queen and get away with it – if only for now.

Emma hoped the town didn’t take it seriously. She relaxed at the thought of several allies, Ruby and David, who went out of their way to bring a bit of normalcy to Regina’s upside down life. Even naysayers like Mary Margaret, Granny, Leroy, and Michael who was reluctant to fix the Mercedes’ rear bumper wouldn’t go as far as put her in danger.

 _Burn the witch_ , it said. Emma’s pulse sped over some brutal intentions of her own. When the promise had been sufficiently rattling inside her she dunked her sponge into the bucket of soapy water and scrubbed.

* * *

The associate stared with all the enthusiasm of a thumb tack.

“Well, sure,” the vague-eyed girl answered.

“Great!” Emma whipped out her notepad and waited with pencil poised. “Now what did the suspect look like?”

The associate shrugged from behind her register.

“Nothing? No facial hair? Tattoos maybe? The color of his shirt?”

“How do you know the dude’s a guy?”

“Do you have evidence to suggest otherwise?”

“No.”

“Because…?”

“Because the customer that bought the paint was a dude.”

“You could have led with that, you know.” The blank stare told Emma that hadn’t made a dent, so she moved on (forcing herself from the distraction of an obnoxious nose ring). “So you remember the gender of the suspect. Did he pay with a credit card?”

“Cash up front,” she noted, itching the tip of her nose with a black polished nail.

“Damn. Okay…” Emma panned down to the name tag, “… Jessica, I have a photograph here I’d like you to take a look at. These are two imprints where a ladder dug into the ground. If you can show me to where the ladders are in the store I’d like to see if I can match this particular pattern made by the suspect’s ladder with something sold here.”

“What makes you think he bought the ladder here?”

“If he purchased spray paint here there’s a chance he came here for other things. I mean, this is the only hardware store in town…”

“Like one-stop-shopping for tools and stuff.”

“Now you’re getting it.” Emma’s finger tapped absently at her hip while the associate returned to staring at her nails. “So… can you lead the way?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

Emma cast a glance towards the vacant parking lot before trailing after.

The fact that Jessica couldn’t identify the suspect was suspicious. Emma would have thought Regina’s stalker to be someone of importance, someone who had made a public enemy of her like Sidney or Jefferson or even Whale. But the sheriff’s station had kept a close watch on their whereabouts since this all started and both had sound alibies.

At the end of the aisle Jessica stopped them at a row of industrial ladders. “It’s not a wide selection,” she said with a bored tone.

“It’s a start.”

Emma held up the photo to each of the ladders, eyes shifting from the mud prints to the ladder feet presented on the shelf. The first two were letdowns, but the third was a perfect match.

“What can you tell me about this model?” she asked, heaving a metal, yellow-coated ladder upright.

“Well, it’s yellow so… that usually means it’s used for construction?”

“You’re asking me? Don’t you have a sales ledger?”

Like she had better things to do, Jessica gave an exasperated sigh and trudged back to her register. She procured a slim binder from under the counter and flipped lazily through its laminated pages.

“Oookay. Here we go. Those yellow model things are sold out to a construction firm here in town. The only one in town, I might add.”

“Well,” Emma sighed and filtered through memory, “its workforce makes up quite a bit of the town’s population. There’s been a need for people to help out with clean-up effort whenever there’s some disaster. Since magic returned things have been a bit wonky.”

“Yeah,” Jessica’s stare wandered vaguely, “ _wonky_.”

“Listen, if my dad – my _deputy_ – and I can narrow down the suspects, would you be able to identify the guy by a photograph?”

“It’s possible.”

Emma couldn’t hold back the smile of relief. “This has been our first good lead, so it better be possible.” She turned to exit the store, but not before throwing over her shoulder a wave. “Thanks, Jessica!”

Humming absently, Jessica kicked back in her chair and returned her attention to a manicure.

* * *

“Mm, something smells good.”

“Doctor Hopper,” Regina stared blankly at the bespectacled man behind the door and tilted her head, “what brings you… how did you know I’d be here?” While the answer was rather obvious, seeing as Storybrooke was a small town, she couldn’t find anything else to say.

Archie’s attention receded from the kitchen where a deliciously aromatic apple cobbler baked. His eyebrows rose expectantly at the woman as he started, “I ran into Sheriff Swan earlier and –“

The implication had her head rising in understanding. Of course. It had to be Emma. She couldn’t keep her nose out of people’s business, after all. This had been the second occurrence which Emma consulted the doctor on her mental stability and it would damned well be the last. Regina had been taken advantage of in a vulnerable state. She was stuck in this apartment with a target on her forehead and no one to talk to but an eleven-year-old and a common woman. Just when Regina thought she could open up and confide her deepest darkest secrets Emma turned around and stabbed her in the back.

Archie picked up the grave recognition and stumbled out, “Now wait, Regina. Before you accuse anyone of breaking confidentiality let me assure –“

“Not this time, doctor. I will not be played for a fool. You can take your assurances and you can shove them. I have no need of your therapy.”

“Regina, if you don’t wish for my professional opinion that’s one thing. As a medical doctor –“

“From a curse!”

“ – I strongly advice against it, however as your friend I can offer you alternative advice. When you were in therapy we talked, do you remember? Simple conversation is sometimes all you need to break free from your past, conversation that breeds camaraderie. That way you don’t feel alone. You have people to support you.”

“Funny you should say that,” the frown lines in her olive complexion deepened, “as the only person I have been able to talk to for the past three weeks has betrayed my trust.”

“Emma’s intentions were good and true. She mentioned you had been going through a hardship – something that is public knowledge considering the threats you have sustained since the curse breaking – and asked me if I could stop by and offer my services. But _only_ with your permission. Emma was quite adamant that I should leave if I am not wanted. Now, if you really believe that her objective was to harm you then you do not know her.” His voice rasped to the coarse statement. Archie shook his head, booming out, “And if you continue to doubt her you will lose the possibly only person in your life that has stood by your side! Who is _still_ by your side!”

Regina took a step back from the doorway and stared at the doctor who was catching his breath from the vehement speech. Never in the years that they had known one another, in therapy or out of it, had she paid witness to an outburst of this kind. He was always so calm and collected, never a toe out of line. Under normal circumstances Regina would have drawled out her amazement at the doctor finally having lost his cool, but his very tone and the accusatory way he looked at her convinced her this was far from normal for anyone involved.

“She has made mistakes like all of us,” Archie continued at a more timid pace, “but the will to admit our mistakes is paramount in achieving forgiveness. I swear to you that no breach of privacy has occurred here. There is more at stake here than petty rivalries. People are concerned for you, Regina. Being a victim of pursuit is not something to take lightly. The things you divulged in our sessions – the confinements, the scars – can trigger a very unhealthy response. You may have buried the memories, but what you have been experiencing lately just intensifies those fears, affecting you and the people you care about.” Archie adjusted his glasses, seizing a step forward to offer measured contact even if wasn’t physical. Any form of company eased the mind of a frightened individual. However, with the quick step back taken in response, Archie understood it was not _his_ company that was desired. “Regina, if there is someone other than me you prefer to talk to I strongly urge you to seek out a friendly ear.” He licked his lips and ventured hopefully, “Perhaps Sheriff Swan?”

How could Regina ever begin to explain the suffering endured at the hands of her mother? How could she reveal her pain? It would hurt too much to speak of her nightmares in detail. They stemmed from an abusive childhood anyone would seek to forget. Cora always had an ever watchful eye on her daughter, never allowing her far from home. The lashes and suffocations manifested in her dreams with vivid accuracy. Long ago, Regina fashioned a magical defense mechanism that prevented any triggers from rousing the past. But magic worked differently in Storybrooke, and the near accident on Toll Bridge brought long buried fears to light.

“Why would I jeopardize my personal feelings for her? She makes a mockery of herself by trying to balance on that savior pedestal everyone has set up for her. The only thing at her disposal is ridicule and a gun.”

Archie’s chuckled thinned out at the scowl. He made up for it with a smile. “Maybe that’s what you need. Emma is a good listener. She will bring a lightness to the situation. I will admit her humor can sometimes be unwarranted, but humor in and of itself brings light to the darkness. She will make it easier.”

“Emma makes nothing easier on me.”

“Comforting only works, Regina, if both parties involved consent to it. The same thing goes for alliances, friendship, marriage… as long as there is mutual respect, a foundation of trust, there is a chance for progress.”

“You are being awfully cavalier, Doctor, about the nature of my association with Miss Swan.”

Despite the dangerous undertones in Regina’s message, Archie just smiled. He peeked around the door. “I hope you don’t mind… I found a few apples scattered in your backyard. They must have escaped from the, ah… the _incident_. Marco and I helped Emma clean up the yard that day and there were some apples that must have scattered into the bushes before the fire. So we collected them.”

Her jaw dropped. “Y-you _what?_ ”

Regardless of the woman’s growing temper, Artie went on in his hopelessly optimistic way. “It’s hard to believe it’s gone. Before it was just flourishing, Regina. You should have seen it. The pride you took in caring for it… Anyway, we thought – well, that is, _Emma_ thought it would be a good idea to gather them up so you could make something special, as sort of a memorial type dish. Anyway, when I ran into her today she mentioned that you might be preparing something of that nature.” His hands gestured back and forth absently, his anxiety more a result of the surprise to the news. From Regina’s wide-eyed expression this was the first she had heard about it. “We figured you would appreciate the thought. At least… some of us did. I just hope it makes up for not being able to bid a proper farewell to your tree.”

“You… Emma… why…?” Her throat constricted, tears welling boundlessly.

Retrieving his umbrella from where it leaned against the hallway wall, hooked it on his arm, and simply smiled again. “Enjoy the cobbler! It smells wonderful!”

* * *

While the last cobbler from the queen’s apple tree baked, Emma and her deputy scoured the construction site. They had been elbow deep in background checks ever since uncovering the source of the ladder. Storybrooke’s one and only construction firm employed more than 30 men and women who were all less than cooperative in the sheriff’s investigation.

David had gotten nowhere fast with the hardheaded union representative. The only scrap of information he was willing to part with pointed to a complex of small homes skirting the forest which were under construction. The site had been temporaryly abandoned due to the major sink hole in town he and his team had been working to repair. Emma and David saw this as an opportunity for the suspect to use the location as means to hide evidence or at least till he found a more permanent place to stash it. Getting permission to enter the site was like pulling teeth, even when you’re flashing a badge, but it worked out in the end.

“Since when are condos being built in Storybrooke?”

“Well, if you take into account the aging process that resumed after the curse was broken there are a lot of kids growing up and babies to be born. We need to make room for a rising population. Not to mention many of the Enchanted Forest are a nomadic people. We adapt easily to change. If a troll tramples our crops or a wolf slaughters our sheep we just pack up and find a new place.”

Emma paused in the hallway, turned, and shined her flashlight behind her. “I was going for something a _little_ less fairy tale invasive. It’s hard not to be reminded about our situation when I’ve got Disney characters for parents and a roommate of a queen who gives her movie counterpart a run for her money.”

Hand shielding his eyes from the heavy beam of light, David smiled willfully and replied, “You have to admit, though, it’s gotten better.”

The soft, hopeful look hit Emma, reminding her just how blessed she should be. Since childhood she had searched high and low for a place where she felt accepted. It took a while, but her search finally ended two years ago where she drove through an unobtrusive town away from the world’s harsh realities. Storybrooke may have had its own brand of horrors, but at least she had family and friends to stand with her in opposition.

In addition, she finally found her real parents who may suffocate her at times, but supported her choices, her needs, and the scant amount of affection she allowed herself to return. Henry lived with her, laughed at her jokes when no one else would, and loved her unconditionally. There was also Regina who brushed her hand with hers the other day in passing and Emma may as well have been falling in love…

Squinting, she lowered the flashlight’s blinding light to the floor. “Yeah, it has.”

They resumed the search, scanning high and low for clues, sniffing the stale air for aerosol, and knocked on dry wall for hidden passageways. The latter may have been wishful thinking on Emma’s part, but one couldn’t dismiss the possibility. Her sweep of the main floor came up with nothing while David hit pay dirt upstairs.

“An ax, a can of red spray paint, a ladder stained with mud, and one empty container of diesel fuel.”

“Hm, I wonder who these belong to,” Emma mused dryly.

Kneeling near the loot hidden in one of the room’s corners, David was careful not to spoil the evidence with his own prints. Without a criminal database and resources to process fingerprints, catching the owner of these items would be tricky. Mr. M was always a step ahead of them. His cover as a construction worker afforded him freedom without suspicion to buy tools and equipment people of his occupation used on the job (axes, paint, fuel cans, ladders). It was brilliant and sick at the same time.

David brought his fingers to his chin and rubbed in thought. They would have to tread carefully if they wanted to nail Mr. M. Whatever plan they concocted had to be executed discreetly so the stalker wouldn’t see them coming.

“We should set a trap here,” he suggested. “He’s bound to show up soon and give a proper burial for this evidence.”

“There’s no way I can leave the house for a night watch, especially after the last incident. I’ll call Ruby later and see if she’s game for a stakeout.”

David nodded. “I’ll relieve her in the morning.” His expression changed then from business to amusement. “For all she’s doing for this investigation you’ll be owing her till you’re my age.”

“Well, if we’re including the time frozen by a curse I think I can survive fifty more years on grilled cheese sandwiches, Dad.” She slapped him good naturedly on the back. “But thanks for the heads up.”

She left the room, leaving her deputy still crouched and reeling from his daughter’s use of a brand new word. Forget that he was just accused of being a 57-year-old man. His baby girl called him “ _Dad._ ”

“Hey,” came the call from the main floor. “I’m going to check the basement. Just in case our perp has anything up his sleeve we don’t know about.”

David turned on his heel and hollered back, “Okay! But mind the stairs. Last I checked that framework didn’t look finished in that area. And mind your corners. Our suspect might have half a mind to come back and bury this evidence.”

Seconds later he heard a sickening crash.

“Emma?!”


	8. Chapter 8

Heavy boots clunked across the sawdust littered floor as David flew down the stairs and to the back of the house where the entrance to the basement waited.

“Emma! Where are you? Are you alright?” The narrow staircase vanished into a darkness so thick he had to squint.

“…Ughh.”

“H-hang on, baby girl.” He inspected the crippled stairway and felt his heart leap into his throat. Heights weren’t his thing. Then again disserting his only child to an injurious fate didn’t sit well with him either. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist and willed his brain to come up with a plan. Earlier, when he and Emma did a perimeter sweep of the condo there was a sliding door leading to an exposed basement. Head snapping up to the pained groan, David got control over his voice. “I’m going to use the outdoor patio entrance. Stay there and don’t move!”

His shirt tail flapped in the wind as he raced around the back of the house. Thankfully, construction on the condo had been abandoned before a suitable locking mechanism could be installed. The door slid open with a whoosh and he passed through.

“Emma?”

“H-hey…”

He had to flinch at the trace of discomfort the voice carried. The greeting, all Emma in its usual mellowness, shook in the dank and dark wreck room. Of course it would befit her to mask her distress. Strong Emma who was never keen about getting beat down by life’s unfortunate events.

David found her in a heap of slivered wood and drywall. He minded his footing around the wreckage in getting to the epicenter. “Hey,” he greeted with a reassuring smile.

“I-I didn’t move like you said,” Emma insisted, eyes fluttering beneath sawdust and flakes of white plaster. Indeed, she had not budged due to the surrounding beams aimed at her in various degrees of sharpness. “Also, I’m pretty sure there’s no sign of our stalker friend. Of course, that’s just based on my perspective… here on the floor… tangled in sharp, piercing objects…” she dragged off at the sight of a frighteningly close piece of stairway which had broken off in the collapse and had its forked slivers aiming in her direction.

Suppressing a chuckle, David got over himself and focused on his immobile daughter. Due to the care which he took in handling the ruins, the wreckage was cleared a good five minutes later. Emma remained conscious through it all and escaped with only a minor headache and a gash in her forearm.

“I really think this needs stitches,” he said, holding the arm closer for inspection.

“It’s nothing. I hardly feel anything.”

“That’s what worries me.”

“Here’s what will happen: I’ll clean it up with some soap, slather on some Neosporin, and slap on a Band-Aid. There,” Emma emphasized with a firm nod. “Problem solved.”

Sighing, he shook his head. “If only your mother were here.”

“Ah, no thanks. I do not need her losing her head over a silly cut.”

“She would be able to guilt you into a hospital visit.”

A curious brow rose. “And you can’t?’

“Not my style. I prefer bargaining.”

The stern fixation which might have resembled fatherly concern caused Emma to rethink her strategy. Pushing a brick wall only got you so far. Sooner or later you had to ask for directions around it.

“Okay, how about this,” she threw her shoulders back and proposed in businesslike manner, “I’ll allow you to drive me to the hospital. Dr. Whale can stitch me up and ply me with painkillers. In return I could use a shower and a place to clean up.”

With her good arm she offered a hand out in cooperation.

A muscular, princely hand went out to greet it. Before they shook he hesitated. “Wait, why would you use your mom and I’s facilities when you have your own?”

As if she knew he would ask, Emma nibbled on the plaster caked flesh of her bottom lip. “I… I don’t want them to see me like this.”

‘Them’ being the Mills’. And then it hit David square in the face. For all he knew the past few months have been hell on Regina, but Emma had placed herself in the same boat, endangering herself and burdening her shoulders with all the stress that came with guarding someone close to her. If he were in her position he would do the same, no doubt.

David and Mary Margaret were her family. They were parents who loved their child. However, Regina and Henry held a different place in her heart. While they were all family, whether by blood or not, the look on Emma’s face now made him realize just how personal this was for her. The two people waiting for her to come home were significantly more than family to her. David didn’t have the heart to feel second best because he knew exactly what it meant to throw one’s life on the line for another, to bleed for and go leaps and bounds to protect the woman he loved. He couldn’t find it in himself to be offended by her desire to clean up for someone else because he was god damned proud of her for accounting for the distress of… _her_.

_Now that’s a kind of complicated I’d rather not involve myself in._

A haze of white powder clouded the air as their hands clasped together in accord.

“It’s a deal.”

* * *

A youthful hand slapped the table as its owner bellowed, “Gin!’

“Nooo,” Emma groaned, staring at the winning hand in disbelief. “You can’t win again! Are you cheating?”

“Only losers ask that.”

“Only cheaters say that.”

“Whatever.”

“Is that a twitch I see?” Emma narrowed her eyes challengingly, pointing to the corner of his mouth. With every inquiry her eyes grew wider, her words loftier. “Is that a tell? Is my own son conspiring against me?!”

Henry batted down the finger which floated obnoxiously near his cheek. “Cut it out, Ma.” A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“But it’s got to be a twitch! I think I’ll check for myself…”

“No! Maaa! Argh –!”

Reading on her bed upstairs, Regina’s head snapped up to the thump resonating through the house. She rolled her eyes and put her book down regretfully, sighing.

Following the awkward tackle, the two ended up wrestling on the floor, Emma tickling under suspicious shirt sleeves and Henry fighting to keep back the giggles.

“This is ridiculous! I’m too old to be tickled!”

“ _No one_ is too old to be tickled!” Emma bellowed back in fits of laughter herself.

“Enough rough housing, children.” Regina rounded the couch and put the pillows back from where they had been disturbed. She fixed the boy with a severe look. “Henry, time for bed.”

“Ughh,” he complained, straining out of his mom’s arms and getting to his feet leaving Emma to flop on the floor like chopped liver. “Night, Ma.”

“Night, cheater.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah-uh. No one wins that many hands. You totally cheated!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“My, my… what is this…?” Still having a good two inches on her son, Regina had a bird’s eye view. She snagged the nine of diamonds from the breast pocket of his shirt and raised it up for all to see in addition to keeping it out of reach from Henry.

An incensed shriek pierced the Mills’ ears. “You…” Emma gasped.

“Holding things a little too close to the chest, were we?” Regina raised a brow at the boy who had taken shelter behind her.

Henry gazed up at his mother with remorseful eyes. “Sorry?”

“Why are you apologizing to me? I was not the one foolhardy enough to allow anyone to win more than ten hands in a row.”

“… Hey.”

Regina handed the card over with furiously pursed lips. When she turned to drive Henry upstairs the corners of her mouth relieved into a grin. Emma may be a fool but when she pouted like that she was an adorable fool. It took everything in Regina to avert the pleasant shape from forming on her lips and meeting it with that smart mouth.

_But a fool nonetheless._

Observing from the floor, Emma watched the throw being folded methodically and placed over the back of the couch with measured care. The process was spellbinding: delicate fingers creasing and folding, the emerald stone catching the light with their movement. Regina wore a deep frown as if unfolded blankets and haphazardly placed pillows were a danger to society. She just looked so… into it. Leave it to her to make a production out of remedying a shabby living space.

_And looking sexy as hell in the process._

“ _Em-ma._ ”

“Huh?”

“You’re bleeding.”

Now that Regina mentioned it, Emma did feel a slickness coating on her arm. She looked down to confirm the red seeping through her dressing. “Oh, that. I must have torn the bandage when I had Henry in a headlock.” She uttered a chortle. “That kid does not like my noogies.”

A disturbed cloud passed over Regina’s features. She noticed the wrapped forearm immediately upon first seeing Emma that night. When asked about it earlier, the sheriff simply changed the subject. Now Regina would not let her weasel out of this.

“If you’re bleeding you need to clean the wound and apply new dressings.”

“It’s nothing. I’ll handle it.”

“Miss Swan, your buffoonery earlier is testament to how well you ‘handle it.’ Now give it here.”

“Fine,” Emma discharged. She got on her feet and stuck out her arm. “But I’ll need it back.”

“Mm.” Tight-lipped, Regina seized the proffered limb, one hand around a wrist and the other supporting below a ghastly looking forearm. “For heaven’s sake, what did you do to yourself?”

“It was hardly intentional.”

The corner of Regina’s mouth knotted in contempt as she shook her head. “The next thing she’ll say is ‘It’s not like I’m accident prone.’”

“That’s because I’m _not_ ,” Emma griped. The muscles in her arm rippled under the commanding fingers and she flinched. “ _Ooouch!_ ” came the testy response. “You can be real… unpleasant, you know that?”

“I was merely thinking out loud, dear. There’s no need to get in a snit. Just answer the question and I will stop making it hurt.”

“Some bargain. God damn – motherfu-!”

“Any day now.”

“I fell, alright? Happy now?”

“Let me guess,” Regina sighed, cocking her head like she had all the answers to life’s questions and then Emma. “You tripped over that rug at the diner?”

Resenting the dig, Emma glowered hotly. “No. It was work related.”

“Well, you can hardly blame me for guessing. Granny has to staple that runner to the floor when you’re around.”

“Just… finish up whatever you’re doing so I can go to bed. I’ve had a long day. I’m tired. I feel dizzy.”

The whining did not go unnoticed. When you were a mother for eleven years and counting it was hard to miss, scraping the inner canal of the ear with its grating plead. For as grown up as Emma claimed to be she proved to be the model to her son’s short comings. From a dislike to green edibles to their dopey pouts to their propensity for butting in where they weren’t needed, these seemingly annoying traits were inherent in the Charming lineage. But Regina had known these people for a long time, and though having been acquainted with Emma for a smaller stretch she had found that some deficiencies in character could grow on a person. Under the rarest of circumstances.

Emma sighed, only just noticing now how light she felt. Previously encased, her forearm became cushioned by a palm while its slender fingers curled, even stroking every so often. The subtle, whisper-like touch made her whole arm from wrist to shoulder feel like Jell-O. True to her word, Regina eased up during the interrogation while she tended to the gristly site with a washcloth.

“There’s a suture loose.” Regina’s warm breath spread on the pale skin, affecting it with a shockwave of goosebumps. “If you will allow me, I can rectify it using a small portion of my magic. It’s either that or I take you back to the twit who failed to secure this stitch and shout until he or she does their job.” She didn’t mention the severity of the cut, figuring Emma too cranky to humor her.

“M‘kay.”

“It won’t hurt, Emma. You can open your eyes.” Smirking despite herself, Regina laid a glowing hand over the area.

“Whoa. That was fast!” Tender fingertips fluttered at the pulse point of her wrist, causing her breathing to become stunted again. “Yikes,” she breathed belatedly. Whether it was due to a swift fix or the magic fingers dancing against her wrist like sugar plum fairies…

_Yikes._

Regina focused on draping the arm in soft gauze and not the small measure of distance between her forehead and Emma’s brazen lips. Emma hovered so close their heads nearly smashed.

“Sorry,” mumbled Emma, rubbing at her temple. A steady flush rose from neck to bruised temple.

After sufficiently glaring, Regina drew back down to the forearm. She gave the knot a few good tugs before releasing the invalid. Her feet retreated. Suddenly, she needed air. “There. Nearly good as new. Please treat this one with more care.”

“Thanks, Regina.” The arm swiveled for Emma’s scrutiny. Her face lit up, impressed. “This definitely beats a return trip to the ER.”

“I can’t imagine how much fun _that_ would have been.”

“Yeah,” Emma snorted, “I wouldn’t have liked getting stuck like I pin cushion by that nurse. Needles are definitely not my thing.”

“I meant for me, dear.”

“Oh.”

Snapping the medical kit shut, Regina turned with a grin. She had not forgotten what Emma did for her. The apple cobbler turned out as marvelous as any other made from the same apples of her dearly departed tree. The topping was a perfect buttery brown and flaky and the gooey sweet filling warmed her inside and out. However grateful she was, she failed to work up a thank you for salvaging the last apples, having been stalled by the series of rumbling moans. Emma had duly helped herself to a hefty two servings and only continued to smile at Regina through each and every forkful. It was only through this display that Regina’s prepared remark choked up in her. Tending to Emma’s injury and the administering of a light pain reliever (evidenced by the glassy green eyes smiling back) might very well have made up for the missed opportunity.

Emma cradled her arm with her other hand as she watched the woman dispose of the bloodied rags and wash up at the sink. From there Regina reached to one of the cabinets above her head and procured a tall glass by which she used to drink from the tap. The effect had Emma rooted to the floor. Drinking from a glass of water… it seemed so innocent and mundane. Everything about Regina these past few weeks had looked so domestic (exempting Emma’s wall hanging incident). It inspired a new perspective on the situation. No one deserved to be forced out of their own home and made to live with “Undesirable Number One” as Regina had ascribed so often before. No one should have been made to watch their own son get threatened while their own life hung in the balance or be the target of gross intimidation time and time again. Regina drank her fill, innocently and without forethought, while a thug prearranged her shameful end.

Emma swallowed, continuing to observe as the glass was placed into the dishwasher. A sudden urge came over her, one that felt seemingly different from how it was instilled in her by Henry.

“I think we should use magic on the apartment,” she blurted.

Regina’s hand settled on the kitchen counter and she frowned through the distorted shout. “Pardon?”

“I-I propose that we should create a stronger enchantment, not around the building but just this apartment. If we limit our magic to the spaces we use… we’ll get more bang for our buck?”

“Our magic,” Regina echoed.

“David and I are getting closer to the suspect. It’s only a matter of time. We’ve been asking around the right people and taking certain steps that will bring us closer and pretty soon our guy is going to be feeling the heat. If my time as a bounty hunter has taught me anything it is that people who feel pressure will react quickly and recklessly. I don’t know if he’ll be stupid enough to try to break in again, but I want to cover my bases. Better safe than sorry, right?”

“But you want to enact the spell using our combined powers,” Regina stared at a vague point on Emma’s shirt, clearly hung up on the proposal and in no small manner of anxiety, “as we did with Jefferson’s hat.” Her voice lacked enough buoyancy a whisper could have blown it away.

Emma nodded. “And the diamond in the mine.”

“I thought you were tired.”

“I’m okay now.”

“Well, I had already strained all that I could in fortifying the spell around this complex.” Licking her lips slowly as if contemplating the accuracy of her own statement, she shook her head, eyes fluttering shut. Regina thinned her lips out grimly as she made to turn. “I wish I could do more, if only for Henry’s sake, but I have been shut up in this place for too long. My magic has dimmed somewhat. I am… I am weakened.”

“But together we can –“

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

Because it would mean touching Emma through magic, and if previous experience was anything to go by, Regina would be reluctant to feel that indescribable warmth settle in her chest. Not that it was anything less than pleasant and not that she would disclose it to any living breathing soul on earth. Regina took a preliminary deep breath and let it out, albeit shakily. Oh, how reluctant. She didn’t think she could ignore the swelling beneath her breast or the thrumming between her legs otherwise. It was hardly Emma’s fault. Regina’s own magic (encouraged by carefully concealed intentions and unresolved affections) remained just as guilty.

“I cannot answer that.”

_Please don’t make me._

“Regina, I’m just talking about a protection spell. I’m not asking you to enact a curse, okay? Just take my hand.” Emma flopped her good arm forward, palm out. The light from the kitchen ceiling brought out the light sheen of nerves coating her hand. “I’m not confident on how to _strengthen_ a barrier so just lead me – and gently, if you don’t mind.”

_If magic comes from emotion then watch out Storybrooke. I’ve got plenty of it coursing through me at the moment._

Sighing, Emma waited as her magic partner stared at her with that unreadable frown. She would have paid money to read that expression even if it endangered her own composure in light of what was about to go down. The answer might lead to consequences neither was ready to face, yet Emma wanted to know what she was thinking. Badly.

“Regina, if you don’t want to…”

When Emma felt the hand in hers she became awash with relief. She kept her thumb on back of it, trailing over the knuckles to preserve the mood. Like Regina, Emma remembered why they were doing this. They focused on who they were protecting, the dimensions of the rooms, every possible exposure that could be used against them. They bound their shelter with notions never uttered. Unseen fingers of magic encased the apartment, crawling like ivy over the walls, nooks, and crannies. They fortified it with hardly realized truths and with promise and the will to protect what they held most dear.

By the time it was done they had connected in a most incomprehensible fashion, palms molded like molten steel and fingers entwined like the vines abounding undetected through house. A curious sensation drew Emma to the thumb absently stroking her wrist (as if it never left once tending to her injury). They fell apart, staggering back from the questionable space their magic had closed. Unlike the previous occurrences the experience left Emma highly aroused.

“Humm,” she managed to get out. Her throat felt bone dry and clearing it was no small feat. Blinking back a mixture of tears and the remains of Regina’s potent magic, Emma met a set of astonished brown eyes. “Okay…”

Instead of a response, Regina simply stood dumbstruck. The nerve at her forehead pulsed as she strained to understand the meaning of this, but Emma’s magic wouldn’t allow her the courtesy. It still left traces – in her veins, as a gentle wind across her skin, teasing her eyelashes, and fueling the heat collecting between her thighs. Following a problematic gulp, her mouth was left to part open.

Unwittingly, a hum slipped from Emma. The sound startled her and she blinked into focus. Her eyes blew wide as if just noticing the implications of what went unspoken. Unprepared to face why Regina was looking at her so… _differently_ , Emma left quickly before she could act upon her desires.

* * *

“You’re mother and I have been talking…”

Henry snickered into his shoulder.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just that it’s taken you a long time to call her that.”

Regina leaned back a bit from where she perched on the edge of the couch. She meant to read his expression after a statement like that, but he had already huddled in to move his rook three spaces to the left. She panned back to the board and frowned.

It had been an absurdly tedious day. The sun was shining brightly in the sky, luring all the kids out to play while Henry had to stay inside. Three weeks into his confinement and he had already powered through all of his assigned reading for next semester’s English class. Regina, for her part, refused to read anything from Emma’s bookshelf (those books already beset by disapproval). Then she had an idea. It had been a much anticipated opportunity to introduce her son to the game of chess. He was nearly twelve, a proper age to reinforce critical thinking skills whether they be of observation, reasoning, analyzing, or conceptualizing. Regina, no doubt, was the parent who wanted Henry to enroll in college.

The idea perfectly coincided with her discovery during one of her snooping escapades through Emma’s closet. The chess set was forthwith polished of dust and set up on the living room table, Regina poised on the sofa and Henry sitting on the floor with his chin in his hands. And so like Regina’s father before her she taught her child the rules and strategies of chess.

“Yes, well when a total stranger comes waltzing into someone’s life claiming ownership over their son it’s only natural to carry on a thorough suspicion of the stranger in question.” She grasped her black lacquered piece and slid it across the board, taking possession of an ivory rook. “Control your center, dear. That’s where great strides are made. You can make crippling moves nearly anywhere from these four center squares. It’s all about perspective.” Her hand settled back in her lap. She thought back to what she had said before and added, “It has taken time for us to warm up to her.”

“In your case, two years,” he supplied with a roll of the eyes. Before contemplating his next move he fixed her with a serious frown. “And you know it wasn’t like that.”

Yes, perhaps she did, but how could she have known that at the time? How could a scorned woman see Emma as the unintentionally aggravating person she was? How could a deposed queen foresee the selfless acts of bravery her sheriff would commit for her? Regina may have believed with all her heart that the woman who drank from her apple cider that night intended to steal her son, but the Regina sitting on Emma’s sofa sharing a game of chess with their son believed differently.

“I know,” she replied softly as if erroneous first impressions didn’t sting. But they did. Oh, how they stung.

“So you and Ma were talking…”

“Yes, we thought you might like to redecorate your bedroom. Maybe paint it?”

“My room here? Why would she need your permission? It’s her place.”

“I didn’t interpose, Henry.” Regina shook her head warningly. The accusatorial tone hurt her somewhat and she wondered just what he thought his mothers were doing these past few weeks if not getting to know one another and testing the waters of trust. “Emma asked for my input and I agreed. That’s what joint parenting is about.”

Pausing in his move, Henry looked up from the board to raise a brow. He had not meant for her to take it like that, but whatever. “Okay.”

“So would you like to paint your room?”

“Sure. I guess.”

Restraining the protective mother bear in her, she watched with disappointment as a white queen left its king’s side. “Know what your piece is worth before you so brazenly put it up for sacrifice,” she said before capturing his queen in one smooth move.

Henry put his head in his hand and groaned profoundly. “You’re supposed to _help_ me not kick my butt!”

“Kicking your butt is how I help you realize your mistakes,” she explained with a small grin. “If you pay attention to these lessons you will be able to see what I see.”

“Which is?”

“Your potential to win,” Regina replied and upon considering it, “and to have fun even if you don’t.”

“I don’t think that’s possible. What’s fun about losing?” Leaning back on his hands, Henry felt all the hope drain from him. It was obvious from the way the black pieces outnumbered his white that he was about to get an ass kicking in chess by the former Evil Queen. He heard a hearty chuckle and stared quizzically at his mom.

“You most definitely get that from my side.”

“Huh?”

Regina laughed again, noting the familiar expression in her son’s face. “Winning is far from enjoyable.”

“Oh.”

She saw the grey, remorseful cloud pass over and consequently missed the resemblance that once shown so bright and lovely on him. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I’m perfectly fine with making fun of my past blunders.”

“Really?”

Considering it again, Regina narrowed her eyes to seal the deal. “For now, let’s keep that between us.”

Leaning back into the game, Henry smirked. He knew how reluctant she was to give Emma carte blanche when it came to joking about her losing streak. The minute Emma got wind of their little secret not a minute would pass before Regina was christened with cute, semi-humiliating titles including, “Queen of Sportsmanship” and “Madame Underdog.” Emma will go on to make t-shirts (“There’s No Whining In Ruling”) and force her to wear one every Friday. And Regina’s burgeoning fondness for Emma would inevitably hold her rage hostage while Emma took advantage of this vulnerability, thus sparking another one of their intense bantering sessions which always ended up with them liking each other even more.

Leaking the details of this agreement would make a mess of things. It would be complicated and wonderful and breed tons of potential. Henry bowed his head to conceal the beaming smile crossing his lips.

_Emma’s going to love what I have to tell her tonight._

Just then Regina’s voice cut into his thoughts, thus forcing him to place his evil designs on pause.

“… and consider different samples to see which color goes best.”

“Uh, I don’t care. Blue, I guess.”

A very thoughtless move of his king triggered Regina’s attention from the game. His eyes were focused on the board, but his head was clearly elsewhere. The small tug from the corner of his pursed lips was more cause for wonder. Regina shifted on the sofa, pulling back a bit to solve the mystery.

“Henry…” she began, eyes searching hear hands for certainty. “Henry, do you miss home? The manor, that is.”

He shrugged.

“I realize I brought this up before. In fact, we never did finish that conversation before your grandparents arrived.”

“What about?” he asked, completely oblivious of the topic she spoke of. With the way she masked her feelings he couldn’t know it had been a subject of anxiety for her since they last talked about it.

“Has it been difficult, spending time between two different homes? The mansion is so much more spacious and convenient and here it’s…” Regina panned around the living room for the appropriate word. She caught sight of the well-used television, the worn cushions, a faded but classic oriental rug, and several items of clothing left in obscure places (all of which belonging to Emma) and finally settling on the cheerful expression of the boy.

“…cozy,” she designated with a voluntary smile. “Moving back and forth… I can’t imagine it would be anything less than complicated.” She chewed the inside of her cheek as the silence stretched. While he searched for an answer her hopes screamed from inside her head. “I just like to know what you’re thinking.” Not _feeling_ because that would be too much information she’s unprepared to face.

“They’re not that different.”

“Mm, how is that I wonder?”

“Because,” he stated simply, “at each place I have a mom that cares about me. It doesn’t matter much that they don’t live in the same house as me.” Henry glanced up to gauge her reaction. “But sometimes I wonder…”

“Yes?”

His mouth contorted and his brows knit together. He weighed the benefits of how to phrase his meaning. In the end he settled for a shrug and a casual, “Meh. It doesn’t matter where we live. I know you guys would do anything for me – you sure say so often enough.”

It wasn’t really an answer. For Henry, though, it was more than adequate and he knew by the slight tilt of a head that his mom didn’t really comprehend the riddle.

_Honestly, do I have to draw a picture?_

And sure enough, Regina held him under intense scrutiny. “I don’t quite understand, dear.”

“It’s all about perspective, Mom.”

The smirk. The sass. It was almost more than she could handle. Being in the company of Henry and his biological mother for so long had a profound effect on Regina. She could recognize similarities between them where there were none before (or at least those she could not recall). Their combined presence made the loneliness ebb. Their rowdy antics brought a stern warning from her lips that felt incredibly suitable to their dynamic. Most of all, Emma and Henry made her heart heavy with longing when they were not near and full to the brim when they were close enough to touch.

Understanding may be about perspective, but it was much more than that. Looking beyond a strategically placed mask had to be done with care or else the veil and what lied behind splintered to irreparable loss. It took more than perspective. It too something more than Regina was not yet willing to part with.

Later, when they were all sitting down for dinner, Regina couldn’t take her eyes off her.

* * *

Between shadows and a poorly placed lamp, Emma scrubbed a hand to her eyes. She had begun to take her work home. The normal work day became insufficient for the kind of intensity with which she had engaged in the investigation. While it wasn’t ideal for her she realized after using home as her workspace that the feeling was mutual. Henry didn’t particularly like being ignored and Regina – in no uncertain terms – requested the sheriff be a bit more subtle in overlooking the needs of their son. Though Emma spied ulterior motives, she accepted the woman’s “request.” Since then she made work less of a priority when at home, filtering through background checks between dinner and kissing Henry goodnight and sneaking a few calls into her deputy when Regina wasn’t looking (which occurred few and far between these days).

The heel of her hand left her exhausted eyes to reach for her cell phone.

“ _Emma?_ ” came the groggy voice. “ _It’s two am. Is everything alright?_ ”

“Everything’s fine. I just wanted to know where you were with Jack Olsen’s file. Anything there of suspicion?”

“ _Olsen, you say? Um…_ ” There was a sound of David’s hand rubbing the sleep from his face and a rustling of sheets. “ _… Not that I remember. It’s really late, Emma. Can we talk about this in the morning? Late morning? When I’ve had my coffee?_ ”

Emma clutched her forehead and tried to soothe the migraine behind it with the tips of her fingers. “Alright,” she replied, the strain evident in her voice.

_“You need to take it easy, kiddo. It’s not going to happen overnight. Get some sleep and we’ll pick up where you left off. I promise.”_

_“Eat something, Erhmma.”_

“Was that Mom?”

“ _She’s half-awake, but she’s right. You look as skinny as a rail, Emma. Have Regina make you that egg thing you were raving about the other day. Okay?_ ”

Taking advice from her parents was not nearly as painful as she thought it. “M’kay.”

_“Goodnight. Sleep tight.”_

“Night.”

The phone landed soundlessly to the carpet where she sat. She slapped one of the files shut, the force of the breeze fluttering at the papers scattered on the table.

Considering the amount of stress she’d been under lately and her head chocked full of case material, Emma wouldn’t get much sleep that night. Nevertheless, her dad was right. She’d be no good to the investigation half-lucid and sleep deprived.

After returning the stack of files to her bag she trudged her fatigued way to the bathroom to splash some water on her migraine.

* * *

The chime of a bell signaled the exit of a late night visitor. Halting outside the shop, Mr. M examined the glass vial he just acquired. It seemed strange that Rumplestiltskin, a master manipulator and professional in the fine art of contracts, declined payment for the potion. Mr. M was aware of the Dark One’s ruthless streak both in the Enchanted Forest and in Storybrooke and could not imagine the wretched pawnbroker offering something free of charge, no strings attached.

Nevertheless, the object concealed tightly in his hand did not come without a warning. The enchantment placed on the Swan home originated from two sources: the first a turbid, unpredictable magic and the second a young, emergent force of white magic. Combined they made a formidable force, one that could only be upset by the application of a counter potion.

But it would have to be used wisely. The vial only allowed a small window for him to employ his final judgment. He touched the object strapped to his hip. With the heavy piece at his disposal there was little to worry about. And though it would be applied more quickly and painlessly than originally planned, Mr. M rested easy at the thought of the queen and her unfortunate accomplice pushing daisies by Sunday.

When he had the ladder propped at a precise angle he ascended up its steps. Noiselessly situating himself on the top rung, he procured the vial from his pocket and waited for it, the most opportune moment.

His breath stirred against the window pane and the inevitable barrier that remained invisible to the naked eye. What was not invisible was what lay beyond the panes.

The soft light of a lamp revealed the queen to be lying beneath the covers as she finished the page of her book. Not long after tossing the paperback on the nightstand where her reading glasses rested, she had situated herself further in recline with pillows strewn and sheets rippled under her heaving chest.

One hand fastened to his vial, Mr. M used his other to acquire the tool from his belt. While he examined the piece, readying it for action, the queen progressed in disjointed breaths and wrenching jerks. She arched her back, throwing back her head in a breathy moan. In one solemn exhalation she identified her protector as Mr. M waited, gun held at the ready.


	9. Chapter 9

The knock startled Regina to such an extent that she nearly rolled clear off the bed. Gasping for breath, she glared at the culprit who had conveniently concealed themselves behind the door. Furious over having been disturbed at such an ungodly hour, she made quick work of redressing the bed back to its regular state, fluffed her hair, and dried the cheeks which had become damp with tears.

Once perfecting a hardened scowl she ripped open the door. “May I help you with something?”

Emma flinched back at the rude greeting. It may have made her migraine worse, but at least it distracted her from all the case work she’d been working on that night. She narrowed her eyes in reply and started at what she saw: the flush to Regina’s cheeks, the tousled hair, an oddly familiar book on the nightstand… Emma put two and two together. It didn’t take more than five seconds to open the door unless you were caught up in something. And, well, Emma wasn’t born yesterday.

She raised a single brow and folded her arms. “Doesn’t look like you need _my_ help.”

Clutching the knob with unnecessary force, Regina stared doubtfully. She spied the condescension in Emma’s stance, leaning against the door frame like she owned the place. The fact that she did own the place was beside the point, of course. “Excuse me?”

“You sounded pretty busy in here. I see you’ve been engaging in some late night reading activities.” Emma stifled a chuckle at the sudden widening of brown eyes. An unexpected surge of confidence affected Emma into a really foolhardy decision. With a hand braced to either side of the door frame, she leaned over the threshold. “Did the book satisfy? Did it give you ideas, Regina?”

Regina’s voice caught. She lowered her eyes without a thought. Emma’s lips were looming closer, licking its top flesh with the tip of a tongue. Instinctively, Regina’s own mouth parted. A puff of breath washed over her with a warmth that sent shivers up her spine.

Half her body encroaching on Regina’s space, Emma was all too aware how her life hung by a thread. The decision to lunge forward, no holds barred, and imply such subtext was like diving into the deep end of the ocean. Then again, this just might be worth a slap in the face so she might as well go for broke.

“We can’t…” exhaled Regina, like Emma had already made a proposition. If only she could have said it with her eyes open. Those steely brown things would have lent a bit of truth to her statement, but at the moment they were as heavy as lead.

Emma’s eyes shined with the hope of a smile. “Why can’t we?”

_We’re already thinking about it. Why can’t we go a bit further?_

The groan slipping from her own mouth shocked Regina’s eyes open. She thought about it while under the spell of Emma’s glistening bottom lip. She nibbled at her own until eager teeth nearly broke skin. “… Henry is in the next room.”

“I’ll be discreet if you’ll be discreet.”

“Some proposal. You can’t keep your mouth shut.”

Emma cocked her chin, inching forward. “Shut it up for me.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I’m Emma,” she corrected, voice thick with desire. “Just don’t use it too loudly.”

Their mouths connected roughly, lips and tongue mingling hotly to shut them both up. It’s successful due in part that neither could tear themselves away.

Bare feet stumbled back as a sock-clad pair followed. Regina groaned at the feel of a supple, young mouth sucking in her bottom lip. She arched her back, pressing her chest into Emma. Her nipples were noticeable through the thin material of her night shirt and quivered into hardened peeks against the rough embrace Emma enveloped her in.

In the midst of passion the question of Emma’s roughness stirred at the back of her mind. It would be so like her to disregard things like clothing at a time like this. Playing with fire got you burned. In Regina’s case, if Emma disrobed her in any unwarranted fashion there would be hell to pay.

_If she rips one stich on my shirt…_

“You finished the book, didn’t you?” Emma asked along the column of neck bared for her.

In heated breaths Regina answered, “I may have read the first two in the series.”

“Really? I haven’t finished the second. Oh,” Emma leaned back with a devastating expression, “you’re not going to spoil the ending for me are you? Because that would be cruel.”

“You don’t want to know? How about I…” Regina flashed her teeth into a mischievous smile and brushed against Emma suggestively, “… show you?”

“Fuck,” came the rough remark from kiss swollen lips. Emma face contorted with anticipation. “Regina, please…”

She met the pleading with a kiss. It was the only strategy at her disposal. Shutting Emma Swan up had been a puzzle Regina struggled with for so long. She had tried punching her lights out, gifting her a coma-inducing treat, inadvertently sending her to another land… The list continued as long as Rapunzel’s hair of legend. She undertook every trick in the book and, still, Emma stuck around to flap that insolent mouth. Every trick, save for one. The only problem being Emma was presently coming back for more. Well, it wasn’t necessarily a _problem_ per say.

Regina’s mouth moved over Emma’s like a swift fever. Any further pleadings were captured by an open kiss and the hot sweep of a tongue that sent shivers through their bodies.

A button clattering to the floor sounded like a pin drop. Furious at having lost such a precious item, Regina’s attention snapped down to fumbling hands. Her face fell into a sneer, but it soon melted away once she felt Emma’s palms graze up her sides.

If Emma was in hell she breathed fire over Regina’s skin. Having caught herself in sinful flames she set her new lover ablaze in gasps and tumultuous flashes of what awaited their fingertips. In the arms of a vandal and a beautiful fool, Regina dispelled into liquid fervor.

The room caved around them, stealing their breath and ignorant of the impostor slipping its potion. Joint sighs split the silence. In the fog of lust Emma and Regina sensed the underlying liking, loving, and softness, but they were too timid to touch it. For a moment they forgot themselves and the reason why they shouldn’t.

Emma began to caress Regina’s breast from beneath her top and stayed just under its full curve as if to ask if “this” was okay. They both knew “this” was more than what her hand ventured to do. Regina, though, sensing a more obvious answer was needed, bit softly at Emma’s ear in approval.

They began to kiss, and clash, and relish in the meeting of bare flesh in their open hands. Regina arched into the contact and silently begged for more. She carried handfuls of soft, golden hair, appreciating it and everything it originated from. The heart in her pounded a deep, prosperous groan that filled every empty space of her being from the epicenter of Emma’s touch above her breast to the tips of her toes and fingers.

Once she felt the lips on the pulse of her neck a reverberation of delight spread through her. Regina quivered and squirmed like she shouldn’t be worthy of it, like she had to escape the blissful sensations elicited by Emma’s mouth and hands. But that delight swelled within her, threatening to get out and prove it to all her disparagers: those who expressed how sorry they were (Snow), those that confined her (Cora), the ones who fondled her gift like it was a toy (Rumplestiltskin). She wanted to prove to them how wrong they had been. She wanted to attest to how breathtaking the act of falling could be.

When Regina called her name in one long, reverent sigh a similar lament returned to her from pale lips. In the midst of it all she minded her reactions to Emma’s touch, limiting cries to whimpers in the crook of a neck.

Soon Emma forgot who was doing the seducing, but she didn’t care. The atmosphere was heavy with the scent of excitement and perhaps even the sharp edge of their magic. She knew the dangers of coupling with this woman, not merely in a sexual context but a magical one. At the back of her mind she heard the door slams and the objects breaking and the sickening crack of a skull meeting a wall. But she felt the course tug on her hair and the harsh breaths beating her ear drums and decided the consequences of making love to this dangerous woman were worth it. Because at the heels of a cruel antagonist there was always an endearing, matchlessly beautiful individual silently asking for someone to look beyond their defenses – or at least according to Emma’s current circumstances.

Crowded pants let loose from their chests which brightened to a healthy pink. The skin of their arms became raised from grazing fingertips while the dips and crooks were adequately teased with kisses. Spines tingled and hips ground together. Regina took pleasure in the hesitance and near nervousness in the hands which groped absently at her waist. Kissing her softly, she guided Emma until her back met the door with a thump. Her mouth came away smiling. Emma fixed her with a confusion that only sharpened the cunning expression. Regina palmed the cheek in one hand and with the other took Emma’s and slipped it beneath her waistband. Fingertips dipped through throbbing wetness and Regina rose to the balls of her feet. Emma’s lips brushed over her moan, capturing it in a kiss.

Regina took back her hand, dragging her nails over the back of Emma’s which worked a steady rhythm between her legs. She pulsed and Emma pressed. Her eyes shut tight and Emma kissed each one. A leg slung over a hip and Emma took advantage of the opening to drive deeper. Every instance Regina moaned aloud was returned with dedication. Every act on Regina’s part was responded to by Emma as if paying her compliment, urging her on, or maybe assuring her that vulnerability wouldn’t always bear damaging results.

Before they got any further they were startled apart by a sharp crack. Their heads turned to the window, the hairline fissure bolting through its glass like lightning and the shadow of a gunman beyond. Before Emma and Regina could react a shockwave of energy spread through the apartment. The force gusted through their hair, seeped through flushed skin, and encased beating hearts like petrified wood.

The curious sensation binding her and Emma together did not soften the risk of danger in their midst. “The barrier has been compromised,” Regina said, throat closing over her worst fear. Her hands remained clutched around Emma’s shoulders. She remained frozen in the face of menace and weakened by the thought of losing what she desperately clung to.

“Wait,” Emma exclaimed. “No, it hasn’t. Look!”

Regina followed Emma’s finger to where it pointed to the crack in the glass. Instead of crashing through the window the lead bullet became lodged. It could no more penetrate their enchantment than it could pierce a steel-armored tank.

Movement in the form of a dark shape occurred outside the window. It was Mr. M and he was escaping.

Shaking, Regina closed her shirt and brought her arms around her torso in a snug embrace. “W-what are you doing?”

Emma was already halfway down the steps. “Ending this once and for all.”

The gun was held fast in her hand. The magazine slid out for inspection before it was jammed back in with a violent snap. With not a minute to spare, Emma raced out the door in the dead of night. Her sock-clad feet slapped against concrete, sunk into grass, and trampled over a bed of hydrangeas before airing into a leap.

“Omph!”

Emma’s knees gathering grass stains as she scrambled to get a hold of the fallen Mr. M. They crawled a good few feet through the lawn before a heel shot out and connected with her cheek.

“Argh!” she cried.

Her grip slipped loose. She tongued the inside of her mouth. The coppery tang made her wince, but it only took seconds for the sting to ignite a rush of adrenaline and she pushed herself back to her feet.

Mr. M stole a glance from behind twice and it inevitably slowed him down. The second time she got her hands on him she nearly decapitated him. The white picket fence didn’t leave a gentle impression as his body was unceremoniously shoved into it. He uttered a grunt. The force of the impact cracked a few pieces of the fence, but he was jammed good into the thing.

Emma fisted her hands in his shirt collar and shook him a few times to instill the message. “Not this time!” she growled in his face.

After shaking off the dizzy spell Mr. M hissed, “What are you going to do, arrest me?!”

“I have other means to dispose of garbage like you.” Laughter barked into the shadows. Emma strained to identify the voice if not the face of the man she spent weeks ruthlessly hunting. “Who the hell are you?!”

The anonymous culprit’s enjoyment continued to echo through the night.

Gritting her teeth and tamping down on the urge to use her gun as intimidation, Emma clutched his lapels tighter. “What’s so goddamned funny?”

“ _Yes_ ,” spoke the smooth, nefarious voice from behind, “what _is_ so amusing?” A fire ignited in the palm of a clawed hand, bathing Regina’s face in various hues of red and orange. “Respond _presently_.”

The hint of a snarl had his head jerking back in fright. He shrunk from the blazing fire ball, sinking further into the fence so that the splinters pierced his back. Then, asserting fealty to his convictions, he straightened. A smirk lay clean across his lips. “The Evil Queen and the Charming’s brat…this is an ironic turn of events.”

An angry red lip curled. “I’ll give you ironic…”

“Regina,” Emma countered. She stayed the squared shoulder with a hand. She willed relief into the touch as well as into her warning of, “Not yet.”

“No matter. I much prefer your blunt tool of persuasion,” Regina said, indicating to the gun. Despite the hardness to her tone, a semblance of composure replaced the frown. Emma’s voice was like a balm to the wounds which persisted in opening, and that very feat dazed Regina all over again.

“So,” Emma said, turning from the intimidating woman in a night robe, “since we’re doing introductions. You want to tell us about yourself? And don’t pull that ‘Mr. M’ crap on us. I’m sick of it.”

When he refused to answer Regina loomed closer, brandishing the fire in her hand to shine light on his identity if not to singe his eyebrows off. By the flickering tones of red and orange Mr. M’s face was made known.

“But… wait,” sputtered Emma as she panned from an equally puzzled Regina to their captive. “You’re just a guy. I’ve never seen you before. Regina?”

“Not familiar in the slightest.”

The significance dawned on Emma and spurred on a bit of disappointment at catching an ordinary citizen. The capture of a hard core criminal would have added a nice mark on her record, if anything. “Well,” she mumbled, face falling, “that’s a bit anticlimactic. He’s an average citizen.”

“About as common as a shoe.”

“I have a name!” cried the man. It seemed outrageous to him that the sheriff wouldn’t take him seriously now that she knew his face and that the queen looked upon him like gum under her heel. “I am Leonard Mandrake! I have worked as an honest construction laborer for these two years now. And it is indecent that you treat me with such disrespect. After everything I have done!”

A mixture of scowl and mirth plagued Regina. “You break into my house, kill my tree, threaten my beloved child and you complain about _decency?_ You do not deserve respect of any kind – least of all from me.”

“Just what were you planning on accomplishing?” asked Emma who crossed her arms with curiosity. “You couldn’t go unnoticed forever. And that stunt you pulled with the barrier tonight... Whatever you thought would work against our enchantment failed.”

Hissing at himself and gasping in annoyance, Mandrake shook his head and murmured, “Damn pawnbroker.”

“Rumplestiltskin?”

Emma held her hand up. “One imp at a time. Okay, Lionel – “

“ _Leonard_.”

“Whatever.” Green eyes rolled before returning sternly on the disgruntled _Leonard_ Mandrake. “You want to tell us why a fool would have reason to harass the queen?” Emma smirked, knowing Regina would get a kick out of that last part.

“ _You_ are the fool!” he barked. “Defending this filth! She’s not even true royalty. Not an ounce of it runs through her blood.” Noticing the ire he had stirred in the queen’s eyes, Mandrake addressed her directly. “Yeah, I know about your parents. Your father was an insignificant prince, fifth in line to rule a swatch of land that bore no resources and no importance to the realm. He died a valet, a poor man’s shoe shiner, and having never even sat on a throne.”

“You are a liar!” roared Regina. The flames flickered in her trembling hand.

“Oh, excuse me. Not died – _murdered_.”

A riotous scream bellowed through the yard. Emma had to use both her arms to restrain the woman and wrench her away from Mandrake. When she had Regina faced towards one of the picturesque houses lining the street, complete with a red front door, window shutters, and brick lay footpath, she turned her bracing arms into a warmer embrace that encircled the shaking body.

“He’s not worth it,” she whispered into the shell of Regina’s ear. “Your dad’s death… it wasn’t like that. I know that. You know that. It doesn’t matter what comes out of his mouth. Don’t let it.”

Arms twisted left and right before tiring out and falling to her sides. Regina’s breath came out of her in quick, unsure clouds which rolled and dissipated in the atmosphere.

“You still here?” Emma felt the nod against her cheek. She let go, accordingly, but not before smoothing her hands down the robed arms and collecting the hands in a reassuring squeeze. It surprised Emma, still, how yielding Regina could be in her arms.

They took their time. Finally breaking apart, Regina led the way back to Mandrake however immovable on the picket fence and apparently not having lost steam.

“The only reason why you became queen was because of your meddlesome mother. And then you killed the true king. Snow White should have followed through with that execution. I was there! I heard the crowd’s disunity. I saw the displeasure in her people’s very eyes! Her interference proved how foolish she and that prince of hers truly are. By setting you free she put her people in danger. She had no intention of making us a priority. The Charmings did not serve the kingdom then and they do not now.”

“Kingdom?” Emma gaped. “Jesus, what reality are you living in, pal? This is Storybrooke, not the Enchanted Forest.”

“And just whom do you think is benefiting from this scheme of yours?” demanded Regina. “If you succeeded in my execution – which we all know now would have been impossible – then you would have done Snow a favor. If you wish for her suffering as you do mine, killing me will not accomplish that.”

“That’s not true, Regina. Mary Margaret wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”

“She doesn’t want me around, either, now does she?”

“That’s different.”

“Do explain, dear. The woman doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t speak to me. We are neither amiable nor reaching for each other’s throats, and I am sick of it!”

Emma scrunched her face, not entirely pleased with her position. “Well, can’t you talk to her? Tell her what you told me.”

“Have you met your mother? She is completely unapproachable when she is suffering from another one of her heartbreaking, ‘Woe is me’ moods.”

“Her emo phase? Oh, Regina, that will pass.”

“Can I have that in writing?”

“ _Please_ shut up! Shut up, shut up, _shut_ _up!_ ”

The two women turned their heads. Mandrake took on a red hue pf exasperation and fixed each of them with a glare. At that moment he didn’t know whether he still wanted to kill them or just short cut to putting himself out of his own misery.

“This is what I’m talking about!” he shouted. “You so-called people of importance are supposed to be governing the town and protecting the people from outsiders, but all you do is fight amongst yourselves. And about the most senseless things! Don’t you know people of power only become a slave to it? Neither of you have any right to it. And you wonder why I am so irrelevant?” He shook his head before jabbing a thumb into his chest. “I pass through society as a nobody, an insignificant fly, while the Charmings and everyone privileged enough to be on their court gets complete latitude over their actions.” His hand flew up to gesture his examples. “Cursed an entire land? Oops, sorry. She gets to keep her rights and liberties. Invite a wraith into town and allow it to wreak havoc on our streets? No big deal! He’s free to keep running a business.

“You guys go off on your merry adventures leaving others like me like half eaten chimera bones! You people think you help?” His chest heaved to hysterical laughs. “You actually _create_ more problems than you do _fix_ them!”

“Is that all?” Regina stared dully, head tilted.

“No, that is not all! What you all fail to understand is that while you make a mess of things and ‘save’ the town, we the ordinary folk are left to clean up the aftermath. And another thing… we are just as skilled with swords and setting crises! We matter goddamnit!”

Emma sighed, shaking her head. “You are one sad, crazy little man.”

His eyes bulged to his bellow of, “I’m Leonard Mandrake!”

“I’m the sheriff,” she replied crisply before pulling back her fist. “And you’re under arrest.”

The force of the punch threw Mandrake’s head back into the fence. Blood poured from his nose and he was out cold.

“I would have gone with something a little more permanent,” Regina drawled, raising a brow, “and related to fire.”

“Yeah, I know you would have.”

They smirked together, catching mutual wicked gazes.

Suddenly, the severity of the circumstances rose to Emma’s attention. Mandrake’s vendetta against the queen had been serious. He may be a bit scrambled in the head, but his coercions were nothing to joke about. The forethought with which each threat was carried out lent some substance to his difference of opinion (if one could call it that). But then his campaign in humiliation and murder branched out to others: Emma’s own friends and family, people who had no right to be reproached behind their backs.

If she paid it mind Mandrake’s feud was nothing more than absurd. He saw people forgive the former Evil Queen and become friends with her. He even witnessed some protect and love her. He saw what Regina had and he became consumed by hatred, jealousy, any number of emotions he had no right to feel without having known the woman Emma had come to care for.

She shook her head of the nonsense and made to cuff the man. “What a character, huh?” She snorted in amusement.

“Indeed.” With a flick of her hand, Regina used her magic to help Emma heave the felon into a vertically floating state.

“Looks like a nice night for a walk.” Emma took in their surroundings with a casual glance. “Care to join me?”

Regina smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.”


	10. Chapter 10

If anyone knew what it meant to be ostracized from society it was Ruby. She could still remember the looks people gave her, still hear their revulsions echo against her back and smell mounting fear when she passed. Ruby knew years of this, but she also knew loneliness. She could spot it from a mile away and smell the days old tears hanging about skin like an illness. From her place behind the counter at Granny’s she saw the booth, furthest away from all the rest, being shared by Regina and her loss.

It came to her in snippets of conversation and passing remarks from the various townspeople. Emma and David had verified most of the gossip (the former in a more distracted, morose fashion). Storybrooke’s notorious stalker was captured and incarcerated before any further damage could be inflicted. That the Savior and former Evil Queen were the ones responsible for the seizure surprised very few. Many, including Ruby, sensed there was more there than met the eye. Ever since Regina teamed up with Emma to destroy the diamond she seemed content with her new life. She was redeemed by some, had her son back, and could walk the streets without a threat of being burned at the stake (or at least not as frequently threatened as before). It became obvious not long after. If the way they went about town like zombies after the capturing of Storybrooke’s most wanted said anything it was that they shared far more than a son.

Since moving back into her mansion, the freedom must have been overwhelming for Regina. Anyone forced to spend three weeks detained in a place seemingly “unfit” for living would have developed a case of dependence and, one such as Ruby might be so bold to venture, a sort of Stockholm Syndrome. The simple act of dining at Granny’s should have startled Regina who was used to eating in the presence of two people, two people munching loudly and humming their gratitude to the heavens.

But based on her slouched posture and her reticence to lift her eyes from the cold cup of coffee, Regina was too morose to feel startled by her surroundings. It became clear from the subtle glances across the table just who Regina wished to be seated there. Ruby herself didn’t understand why Regina just didn’t magic Emma and Henry there if their company was so considerably desired. But perhaps that was what made Regina different from the person Ruby knew before she sacrificed herself in the mines, or even before Emma and Mary Margaret returned from the Enchanted Forest, or maybe just after the curse broke.

In a move not wholly uncharacteristic these past few weeks, Ruby Lucas decided then and there to do something about that miserably hung head.

“Hey, there! How’s it hanging?”

Ruby replaced the mug cradled in despondent hands with a warmer substitute and plopped down from across the woman.

“Is there someone else here you can inconvenience…?” Regina’s voice trailed off upon seeing who joined her. “Oh, Ruby. It’s you.”

The instant her given name left those lips Ruby’s eyes lit up. Regina had never gone to such lengths before, which means this was progress. Even the apology in her tone was more than expected.

Ruby tilted her head and smiled softly as if to a friend. “Hi, Regina.”

“Is there something you needed?”

“Not lately, although I could be in the market for some new boots for the winter.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” Regina’s tone remained even and uninvolved in the plight to snag a good pair of shoes (though she could sympathize). “Maybe you could ask Eugenia for an increase?”

“Not unless you get reinstated as mayor and propose a bill to raise the minimum wage.”

“Not likely as that is overseen by federal and state legislature.” Cold hands palmed the coffee mug for a moment. Regina glanced up, unclear why the waitress still persisted in sitting there. “Is there anything else?”

“My break started a minute ago and I just wanted to hang out.”

“With me,” Regina stated flatly.

Ruby’s eyes lit up again with a genuineness she couldn’t fake. “Mm-hm!”

Suffering a drawn out sigh, Regina propped her elbow on the table and rubbed at her brow. Eyes found a vague spot on the red leathered upholstery of Ruby’s backrest and frowned. Regina dragged her fingers into her hairline, trailing the ache that had migrated to her head. “I am afraid I’m not pleasant company at the moment,” she murmured with a stare fixed ahead, waiting for something or someone in vain.

“Hm,” hummed the waitress who looked down at the colder mug of the two. With equal disappointment she said, “Yeah, Emma’s not in high spirits either.”

Dark lashes flicked up, bringing with them a spark of life in the eyes.

“I just called her a moment ago,” Ruby explained. She was only speaking half the truth. While the sheriff had received no call from the waitress that day, Ruby was aware of just how blue Emma had been lately. David called Granny’s often enough with double orders of bear claws in the effort to cheer her up, but to no avail.

_Maybe he should have ordered a Regina instead._

“She’s not feeling too well.”

At the grave tone of voice, Regina straightened so her spine came flush against the booth back. Her mouth parted, but then paused. Realizing how quickly her interest in Emma had mounted, Regina covered it with a pursed lips and a shoulder shrug. “How serious is it?”

“This is Emma we’re talking about. If she’s hurting she won’t show it to save her life. But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that. You two are on pretty good terms lately.”

The muscles in Regina’s jaw twitched. “Not lately, dear.”

“Still, I’m sure she’d feel better if you stopped by. This lull in criminal activity has kept her and David at the station indefinitely. They’d love a visitor.”

“I don’t want to see her!” came the growl.

Widened eyes looked the woman over. The distraught mask slipped so fast it made Ruby’s head spin.

Regina started, “I-I mean… that’s not what I meant…”

Ruby’s jaw still hung open as she couldn’t get over the fact that Regina was stumbling over her words. Regina never fumbled. She always knew what to say and how to say it. Ruby raised a brow. Regina also didn’t reprimand herself like she was doing now.

“I don’t know what I meant,” Regina said, a whine laced through her words. She was so confused, inside and out. She certainly _felt_ like someone turned her inside out. The hands braced to the sides of her face were the only remedy she knew in holding herself together. Helpless and lost, Regina veered away from the stares of customers passing and looking over their shoulders. She shut her eyes from the world.

Ruby knew what it was like to be left with one option. She remembered how easy it could be to close her eyes and ears off so the familiar became faceless, the fetor to become something more bearable to the imagination. Hiding away from society’s prejudiced might dampen the anxiety for a time, but it was far from a long term solution.

“It’ll pass,” Ruby said in a hushed ton. Her hand reached across the table. “It’s not forever. Have faith in the right people.” She patted the hand reassuringly before returning to her seat. Exuberance replaced her previous demeanor as she announced, “Emma seems to have proven herself a worthy sheriff. After putting away that creep… whatshisname… she sure inspired some trust with the town. I’ve overheard some talk come in and out of here and people are really impressed, especially with her partnership with you.”

That had Regina’s head snapping up. “Could you repeat that?”

“Partnership. You know, when you guys captured that guy? Teamwork!”

“Oh, yes,” murmured Regina, looking back down at her hands. “Teamwork.”

Shoulders drawing inward, Ruby dropped her voice to a whisper. “How was the sex?”

The astonished shout of “What?!” turned every head in the diner.

“You guys must have gotten that far. Otherwise you wouldn’t be acting like you lost your favorite puppy.”

It seemed that during those three weeks of lunch deliveries Ruby had got to know her a bit more than she realized.

“How dare you!” Regina scowled, and for a moment it looked like the ruse succeeded, until the color drained from her face. “We didn’t… Emma and I… It wasn’t like that.”

“You mean it wasn’t just physical,” Ruby gathered easily from the conflict painted across Regina’s face. Henry shared his true love theory with her a while ago, so the ache swimming in those brown eyes hardly called for headline news. “Well, I’m glad to see this is not one sided.”

“What on earth are you suggesting? If you came here to say something then come out with it.”

“Now that you mention it…” Deep creases ran their way through Ruby’s forehead. Her head ducked as if to avert an oncoming hailstorm. “I think I might shut up. Oh, look at the time! Break’s over!”

Regina snagged a wrist and tugged the fleeting waitress back down. She needed only to glare menacingly to keep the girl in her seat.

“I really shouldn’t. Emma swore me to secrecy.”

“You will start talking Ruby Lucas or else your grandmother will have a field day with you and your shortened cash drawer.”

A hand raised and wiggled its digits in a threatening gesture. One swish and a flick would have the register opened and depleted of cash.

Ruby gasped. All she needed was Granny to find one cent out of place and then it’s sayonara to those boots. The Nordstrom’s fall sale would get no service from Ruby and her docked paycheck. “You wouldn’t!”

The stony expression told her Regina would. What a _witch_.

“Argh! Alright. You can lower your weapon. Geez!”

The hand lowered accordingly and joined its other half at the table. Twiddling her thumbs, Regina raised a brow and prodded, “You were saying?”

“Okay, so here it goes.” Ruby sighed, trying to put out of her mind the number of ways Emma was going to get back at her for this. “Remember when you and Henry had to hide out at Emma’s?”

Staring, Regina replied evenly, “How could I forget?”

“Right. Well, as I’m sure you know, not many people would have been willing to put their lives on the line to involve themselves in the sheriff’s plan. I mean, it was hardly a state secret that you were in trouble. Anyway, _I_ volunteered. You’re welcome, by the way. But you shouldn’t just thank me. While I had no problem stopping by to drop off food and supplies it was Emma who raised the bar. Did you ever wonder who paid for all the meals from Granny’s? Or all the grocery items?” Ruby didn’t wait for an answer before she snorted amusingly. “Yeah, Emma nearly flipped her lid at the first list you gave her. She was not happy spending twenty bucks on a jar of pesto. But guess what got delivered right to your front door. Pesto! Add to that those three weeks of highly personalized lunch orders: no egg chef salad, hold the sprouts, extra tomato, and light dressing on the side. And if it was a soup day there would be a take-out order of French onion, unless the onions weren’t cut to paper thin standards or the soup’s been collecting that… stuff on the surface –“

“Scum,” Regina corrected.

Ruby made a face. “A-ah, right. _Scum_.” She shivered in revulsion before resuming. “Anyway, I was _asked_ – not paid extra, mind you – to place these orders in addition to checking and rechecking and triple checking the accuracy of the finished product and delivering them to you and Henry. Seriously, at first I thought Emma was just covering her ass in case you yelled at her for not conveying to me the severity of screwing up an order or reminding me to include the tomatoes or whatever. Because her fear of your wrath was the reason she gave me. But based on the other things she did… I knew she was lying.”

“Things,” Regina reiterated, tightening her grip around her untouched coffee. “What things?”

“Where do I start?” Ruby gave a roll of the eyes before taking a breath and ticking each thing off one of her five fingers. “She told her mother to make an appearance whenever David stopped by. I’m glad I wasn’t present for that conversation. You know what Snow is like when people tell her what to do? Never mind, of course you do. Anyway, she forced her mom to visit, entertain Henry, and above all make nice with you even if you try to stick a needle in her eye. Apparently those visits went smoothly because Snow still has use of both eyes not to mention a weird look whenever you’re mentioned in conjunction with her daughter.”

Ruby had to hand it to Regina for holding back the self-satisfied smirk at the possibility of a Snow walking around one eye short. Then again, if Ruby was being updated on all the wonderful things the love of her life did for her she’d be pretty unresponsive too.

“Emma also requested Granny and I to guard the exterior of the apartment. Not all day, just the nights. Unfortunately, we weren’t there on the day that creep broke in. Sorry,” she said meekly. Her face fell and her mouth twisted to show how grave of an error she made. “But one of us stood by on the other nights, Granny with a full armory strapped to her and me in my wolf form.”

“That’s…” Regina’s frown deepened at the enormity of what Ruby and her grandmother sacrificed for their once enemy. She wondered when she had done the same for a friend and wondered further if she was still the same Regina who would abandon that friend. Swallowing with difficulty, she scrambled for poise and, above all, sincerity. “That’s very kind of you, Ruby. For guarding my life and my son’s. I cannot repay you enough.”

Offering a small smile in return, Ruby shrugged a shoulder. “As I said, I’m not the one who deserves total credit.” She then dipped her head to deliver the next piece of news. “I just want to make it absolutely clear here, in case you didn’t understand my whole speech back there. Emma went to great lengths to ensure not only Henry’s safety but yours too. You guys are her family and she needs you. I mean that quite literally, Regina. Emma needs _you_.”

_Like, do I have to make a PowerPoint?_

There was a small tug at the corner of Regina’s lips. She examined her mug and the nail scraping around its rim with far too much devotion. “I waited for her. I am waiting for her.”

“Well, why don’t you go to her?” Ruby sighed impatiently and proceeded to eye the woman with an air of condescension. “Last I checked you were Regina Mills, not Bashful the Dwarf.”

It didn’t take much for both women to erupt into laughter. It was easy and it resembled a lax manner between friends. Ruby extended her break an extra ten minutes and refilled both their cups with hot liquid courage. A few snippets of conversation were exchanged. Regina smiled without thought, having missed the window into other people’s lives and gossip that Ruby opened for her. It was harmless fun and it felt good.

Before departing, Regina slipped a bill from her wallet and placed it on the table. Upholding common decency, she never left her meal without leaving a tip, even if it covered a simple coffee order.

“See this as a means to buy those boots, dear.”

Ruby watched the red nail tap once to good old Ulysses’ face and broke out into a beaming grin.

The diner door’s bell chimed just as a holler of “Thank yooooou, Reginaaaa Miiiills!” reached out of the restaurant and down every lane of Storybrooke.

* * *

Regina had no idea how to approach Emma, so she started with putting one foot in front of the other. By the time she rounded the last block her body nearly seized with dread. She still didn’t have a plan of attack.

_It would be a good start if I stop calling it an attack. Or else she will get the wrong idea._

The last time they had seen one another was a week ago after “moving out” of the apartment. Since then Regina made a habit of caressing her phone from inside her pocket and slipping it out to check her messages every 30 seconds. The days had been stranger – stranger and more leaden with emptiness than after she and Emma saved the world from a nuclear diamond. At least then she could read in her bed without mistaking a creak in the floorboard for Emma’s insomniac footsteps. At least she could eat in peace without the knowledge of just how infuriating a masticating jaw and those obnoxious moans were. At least she could _sleep_.

But since moving back to Mifflin Street Regina’s life had been anything but the excitement and unpredictability she’d grown used to. Silence was deafening. Regina could no longer endure being alone in a house this enormous. It was worse than when she had to deal with Henry being gone after the curse broke. It was worse now because she knew full well what she lacked. She knew the combined forces of Emma and Henry and all their eccentricities that seemed so intolerable before. She finally came face to face with the loss of what had been so snug within her possession. Regina had them close just days earlier. Now they were gone like sand through her fingers. Of course, they were not permanently away. Storybrooke was a small town where she lived with her son five days out of the week, where she passed Emma on the street and spied her through the aisles at the grocery store.

But it would not be like that time they had, confined to a small two bedroom apartment. It may have been cramped and messy and bereft of the finest pesto at times, but its dimensions were more than adequate to accommodate the love between a family of three. It was more of a home than Regina ever knew. She forgot how to be alone and for that she hated herself.

Regina’s heels clicked with each step taken up the stairs. She had one flight more and two hallways to back out. What would Regina say? What did she want? Nothing came to her clever, systemized mind. And wasn’t that something? Regina Mils, not knowing how to proceed with a crisis. For there was no other word for it: crisis. She waited seven days and seven nights for Emma and was sorely disappointed.

But for the many faults of Emma Swan she did seem to make up for them in notable ways. Nights of horror and cold sweats sprung to mind. Someone suffering from night terrors doesn’t simply fall asleep without having been lulled by a soft spoken, long-winded apology. Regina may not have wanted to believe it then, when she attributed the mumbling voice to a dream (the only one in a string of nightmares).

Regina didn’t know when she stopped remembering it as a dream. Now that she considered the event, it was a lovely thought: the Savior watching over her. She never placed much stock in those myths of knights and fairy godmothers and lovers’ whispers unto resting ears. Not until Ruby spoke of good deeds and a stoic heart.

The illuminating cache of information lent a bit of significance to the “accident” in Emma’s bedroom that one night. Regina didn’t ascribe much to the event. In truth, their behavior resembled that of post-prom teenagers who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. She would never describe herself as sexually frustrated or incapable of keeping her pants zipped at inopportune times. But the way her hands hastened that night, the quaking in her thighs as sweaty palms spread them for entrance, how thoughtlessly that name dripped from her lips revealed how momentous an effect Emma had on her. Emma’s magic, her physique, her taste in books, and the overconfident rubbish coming from her mouth… They did things to Regina she couldn’t begin to describe. The one night of awe inspiring sensations elicited by lips and fingers had Regina yearning for them every night since. She hungered for that feeling again. The innumerable times Regina pleasured herself while imagining Emma’s hands all over her could only do so much. She wanted to feel the ground shake and her heart groan and sense her magic crackle in time with its better half.

“Afternoon Regina!”

Regina screeched to a halt and nearly collided with the burly chest of Deputy Nolan. Specifically, the father of the woman she was fantasizing about in carnal detail.

“David,” she gasped and settled a hand to her chest. “You startled me.”

“Sorry. It’s nice to see you out and about.” He smiled kindly. He knew the strain Regina had carried in her shoulders when her stalker had lurked about. She must have been relieved to breathe the fresh air of freedom, but David was reluctant to actually bring up such an unfortunate time. “Good timing, too. I was just about to grab lunch.”

“Sheriff Swan is in her office?”

“Yep. As I said, good timing.”

Regina smiled tightly. He was sure coming on a bit strong. “Good day, then.”

He left at a jog and waved behind.

“Charmings,” she muttered. Before getting far her stride paused. She frowned.

_Did I mean that with contempt or fondness?_

Regina shook her head of the nonsense and proceeded through double doors. She breathed a sigh. It was like any other day. The sheriff reclined in her chair, twisting a pen in one hand and a cradled a styrofoam cup of sludge in the other. Instinctively, a smile graced the former mayor’s lips at how predictable this scene was. An index finger tapped the rim of the cup while Emma stared into space with such intensity as if it might send a signal back from extraterrestrials.

In addition to the daydreaming sheriff, the rest of the station looked its usual: desks were cluttered, the water cooler needed replenishing, and crumpled balls of paper surrounded the trash can as evidence of David’s poor arm in scoring three pointers. What did strike Regina as odd became clear upon moving further into the station.

“Be careful, Sheriff, or some might begin to think you keep your word.”

The sultry drawl brought Emma out as quickly as Pooh drawn to honey. The manner in which Regina lounged in the doorway of her office door harkened back to that gamble of move made at a bedroom entrance. Whether it would end in the same wanton exploit was anyone’s guess.

“Some people?” asked Emma, smirking. “Or just you?”

As promised, Leonard Mandrake sat on his cot behind a locked cell just a few months short of Christmas. He gave the station’s new visitor one scornful look before pouting into his lap.

“He looks happy.”

Emma chuckled. “As can be.”

“Sheriff, I’ve been meaning to inquire about Rumplestiltskin. I assume you followed up on that part of the case?”

“Of course. Yeah.”

Regina waited for a moment and when it seemed like Emma would continue on staring she snapped her fingers in the air to get the daydreaming woman back to reality. “Rumplestiltskin’s role in this scheme?”

The sharp snap in the air triggered Emma’s head to jerk back, blinking focus back. “Y-yeah,” she cleared her throat, “yeah, right. Um, I stopped by his shop and questioned him.”

“Why would he supply Mandrake with a useless potion? It hardly made a dent in the protection spell if you remember.”

“Yeah,” Emma narrowed her eyes, trying to read behind the words, “I remember.”

“So…?”

“Apparently he doesn’t like dealing with pathetic nobodies like Mandrake,” Emma explained, shrugging her shoulders. “He said – and I quote – ‘At least with Charmings and Company I can be confident that their transactions are carried out in full due to their annoyingly trustworthy charisma’ end quote.”

That kind of irony could only come from Rumplestiltskin himself. Regina snorted with an amusement she’s sure Emma and her family wouldn’t understand. “He has you there. I suppose trusting anyone outside that circle would be bad for business.”

“If you say so,” Emma noted apathetically. “I’m just glad the case is closed.”

The occupied cell drew Regina’s attention. It had been seven days and she never forgot what this man had put her through. His transgressions would never slip her mind because it was people like him that made her build a wall up around her and her son. “What will happen to him?”

Stepping away from her office Emma folded her arms and eyed the woman carefully. “I’m shocked. I thought you would follow through on that threat to string this guy up like a ragdoll.” Green eyes narrowed playfully. “You going soft, Your Majesty?”

“Absolutely not.” Regina’s head turned, chin raised with all the authority Storybrooke allowed her to retain. “And as far as hanging the insolent bastard I don’t think he deserves it. I’d rather he suffer a far more enduring fate.”

“Well, unless you want to suggest something specific, the formal sentencing will be in the hands of Mary Margaret. She’s in charge of forming a court which will decide his punishment. It’s supposed to be composed of various citizens – a mix of royals, peasants, friends, and foes.”

Regina surged her eyebrows in surprise and then scrunched at the likelihood that it was all just a misunderstanding. “Snow is voluntarily helping to clean up this mess? Excuse me for doubting you, dear, but that doesn’t even happen once in a blue moon.”

“I just think she misses the old days.” Emma cocked her head, face going sour at the thought of the chimera and mud and trolls and useless firearms. “Just yesterday she was reminiscing about her royal court or whatever. I think she has half a mind to form the Storybrooke spin off.”

“Well, I suppose it would suit her.” At Emma’s brow raise she explained, “I’d rather her deal with this town’s hullabaloo. I’m tired. I would like to permanently retire from these people.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Perhaps I do,” Regina said in a clipped tone. She could not allow herself to feel guilty over the hurt pout she was receiving. “What concern is it of yours?” Yet something quite resembling guilt rolled deep in her gut.

“I, um, well, I was kind of hoping I was worth sticking around for. At least for my pancakes.”

“Do not think so highly of yourself, Miss Swan. Especially when it’s concerning home economics.”

“Yeah? Because I haven’t forgotten the number of extra cakes you made me slip you when Henry wasn’t looking. If he ever found out –“

“He will not find out.” A fashionably dressed shoulder inclined in Emma’s direction. Of all the threats she’d come to dish this had to take the cake (no pun intended). “Because you will not tell him,” she emphasized heavily.

“Yeah,” Emma rolled her eyes and smiled with delight, “we’ll see just who eats whom out of house and home next breakfast.”

“Can you please stop doing that?”

Wringing hands dropped to her sides as Emma straightened. “What?”

“Do you have any other word in your vocabulary besides ‘yeah’? It is so dismissive, not to mention an injustice to your intelligence.”

“Did you just call me intelligent?”

“Yes,” Regina intoned. “See? Now isn’t that much improved from ‘ _yeah’_?”

Emma’s shoulders sagged with her heavy sigh. “Was there anything else you wanted to see me about? Besides my informal communication skills?”

The exasperation stung a bit. Regina opened her mouth and then frowned over what she could possibly say. This had been an unscheduled visit, after all. Why was she here in the first place? The abstract lingering in Emma’s expression was _so_ distracting: a quirk of a brow over patient eyes, a half smile, and both hands stuffed in her front pockets. And her hair looked extra golden and soft, so desirable to Regina she felt the need to prove its sunshine quality with a touch of running fingers…

“Have you been sleeping okay?”

“Pardon?”

“I know you don’t like sharing this kind of stuff, but seeing as we lived together already…”

Cocking her head slowly, Regina shot that one down with a helpful, “I’d hardly call it living together.”

“But I did live with the effects of your nightmares. They woke me up, too, so I’m just wondering – as a friend and not someone who lives with you – if you’re sleeping alright. Because I know how hard those nights can be, when the past just doesn’t want to stay where it damn well belongs. I care about that kind of thing.”

There was that stoic heart at work again. For all the coarseness that Emma went about things and for as stubborn as she tried to fix her own issues, she did have a way with niceties. There was even a wistfulness to her words. Regina didn’t approve of people knowing her sleeping habits or anything of that personal nature, yet, as Emma just claimed, she was hardly “people.”

“No,” she replied, and only semi-honest due to the fact that she barely slept a wink now, “the nightmares haven’t returned.”

Emma nodded, hands still in her pockets. Her shoes drew her gaze down as she scuffed a toe into the floor. With a nibble to her bottom lip she ventured a glance at Regina. “Well, if you have trouble –“

“You will be the first to bother me.”

“I was going to say ‘offer my services,’ but…”

A suggestion like that filled Regina’s mind with images of what they had yet to finish. A grin, running slow like maple syrup, formed across her lips.

“Oh, I didn’t mean…” Emma, nearly horrified at her reference being misinterpreted, soon let her blank fright slip to understanding. Like Regina, she remembered too that night of sliding lips and how incredible her fingers mingled with Regina, inside, together, entwined. “Right,” she breathed, accepting that Regina’s interpretation took the cake. “I’ll stick with that, then.” She chuckled sheepishly and raised her hand to the back of her neck. “Here’s the thing, I’ve been meaning to ask you something, and it’s not the kind of topic I wanted to broach over the phone. That wouldn’t be right and I know for a fact that it would piss you off. So I’ve been waiting – finding the right moment, more like – to do this…”

“You have?” Regina sighed to herself, oblivious of the hope hanging on her question. But then Emma got held up in her parted lips which had been oh so sensual against taught, shivering flesh. “Don’t make me wait, dear.” She smirked. She knew her body had this effect on many people, but seeing Emma dumbstruck and dawdling was so deliriously endearing Regina might never be tempted use her wiles on anyone else henceforth.

An awkward cough and then “Um…”

“Is this about Henry?” Regina detected the waning excitement in Emma’s tone as well as the pallor her face had taken on.

“No, no, it’s not about Henry.” Emma shook her head quickly before pausing with a frown. “I mean, well maybe it does concern him.” Her gaze lowered to take in the glossy floor with severe consternation, like it was more appealing than Regina’s beauty.

“Emma!” she snapped sharply, for as much as she overworked herself to ignore Emma she did miss the attention the woman gave her (among other things). “Speak, dear. Preferably with words.”

“Yeah – sorry, _yes_. I’m glad you stopped by just as my dad left because I wanted to ask you if… you… wanted to have dinner with me, in the future, _near_ future, or whatever time that suits you.”

“Have you memorized this speech?”

“Not in the slightest.”

A head rose and then fell slowly in understanding. “It shows.”

It wasn’t the expected sardonic retort, but the brilliant smile indicated to Emma that the worst was over. “Oh, thank god,” she exhaled heavily, bringing the heel of her hand to her forehead. Her pulse raced like a mad horse and she was still chuckling nervously, but at least Regina didn’t murder her.

_I need to stop being so ballsy around this woman or it will kill me._

“Do not thank god just yet, dear. However harmless your intentions, I have not accepted your proposal.”

Relief collapsed in on itself to a hardened glare. “Why the hell not?”

After all those days waiting for Regina to show her face and through the several pairs of jeans she had to wash due to the sweat from her palms and all that “winging it” crap her dad talked her into, this was how Regina repaid her bravery? Damn, Emma just assumed dumb luck had been on her side today. Apparently not.

“Why _not_ , Regina?”

Why not? After what she felt with Emma when they wielded magic and their own powers of passion why hadn’t she saw fit to realize their potential? Instead of venturing that road Regina turned and walked. She walked away from Emma that day she moved back to the place she used to call home. All these years Regina and the Evil Queen had been running. Yes, they embraced the darkness that transformed them, but they were forever chased by demons of the past. For years they ran, from fear of confinement, of being watched endlessly. They also ran from what was good for them. Regina and the Queen ran from compassion and above all love.

But sometimes the chase was not always a bad thing. It was why she waited in the diner day after day for Emma to pass by. It was why she spent her time in the grocery store, camped out in the Pop-Tart aisle to happen across an uncommon woman she shared a kiss with. No, the pursuit wasn’t always a bad thing, if under the right circumstances. Sometimes people were chased down to stop one from wreaking more pain on themselves and others. The good that came from being chased was that someone took notice despite the stain and the scar. It meant that someone was willing to go the distance.

_Why not?_

“Did it ever occur to you that we dislike each other? We have nothing in common and I can’t stand to see you trash that body with empty calories. Why should I go out with you when I will be made to watch you stuff yourself with buckets of pasta and baskets of garlic bread?”

Scoffing amusingly at the image of that, Emma folded her arms defiantly and countered, “First of all, we do like each other, otherwise we wouldn’t be able to push each other’s buttons the way we do now. And I know you like to push mine as much as I do yours, so that in and of itself proves mutual likeness. Secondly, we do have things in common: Henry, for one, including our shitty pasts and persistent insomnia, our taste in lesbian romantic fiction because the severely dog-eared page – you know the one I’m talking about – in that book proves just how distasteful you think the plot is. I know I’m leaving some significant similarities out, but those three stands out at the moment. Rain check me for the sequel.

“Thirdly, ‘that body’ is _my_ _body_ and I can fill it with as many sweet bear claws and Italian carb delights as I see fit. And lastly,” she brought her hands to her hips and drew an expression of confusion, “you didn’t have a problem with my eating habits before.”

“That’s because I was in charge of the grocery list!”

Emma’s arms flew out in grand gesture. “How is two dollar pesto any different from twenty dollar pesto?! It tastes the same!”

“There. Is. A. _Big._ Difference.”

“Sor- _ry_.”

“This is what I’m talking about, Emma. We are fighting.”

“We always fight. That’s our thing. Emma and Regina fight. And afterwards they have makeup sex.” She risked a smirk and shrugged like she was talking about the weather.

And damn Regina if she wanted to kiss that smug look off that pretty face. God help her if Emma wasn’t just the most overconfident, kind, sexy young woman she ever had the privilege (and pleasure) of arguing with.

She scowled at how the idea of makeup sex with Emma made her ache, thrum, clench, and grow absurdly damp all in the span of time it took for “makeup sex” to trickle from those lips. Three seconds was all it took and three seconds was the time Regina would pledge (hypothetically) to make Emma come heartily upon entering her. If they ever got to that point (hypothetically).

“We may have…” Regina’s eyes searched Emma’s for the appropriate word, “… connected under radical circumstances that have altered the misgivings we once harbored towards each other…”

“ _I_ harbored no such things.”

“Dear, has it escaped your memory of the time you broke my right to privacy by asking Doctor Hopper about my therapy sessions? Or that lovely misconception where I became the exclusive suspect in his fake murder?”

“But don’t you think I’ve made up for that? I certainly think so. In some very major, noble ways, too.”

Regina sighed. She tipped her head softly as if laying it to a pillow. “You have,” she whispered, “but then how have I treated you in return? Can you honestly say my frequent dismissals have not reaped disappointment? That my ingratitude towards your attempts to safeguard my well-being has gone overlooked?”

“That depends. Are you grateful?” Emma would be lying if she weren’t asking herself the same question every day since.

The unembellished need for appreciation swirling in Emma’s eyes had Regina surging forward in long, momentous strides. But then she stopped just short, dropping her sorrowful expression to her hands which twisted and wrung. The lines in her forehead crinkled further. “Yes.” In barely a whisper she finally let it be known. “Yes,” she described harder, with the kind of substance Emma’s heart ached for. “Yes. I am grateful, and it was horrible of me not to take notice of your actions. Even when they stared me in the face. Even when you, Emma, proved yourself to me, I remained unassertive. I can’t say it’s something I’ve been faced with. Up until last week I had been so accustomed to death threats and harassing phone calls that I pushed away the only truly noble act anyone has ever done for me.”

Regina didn’t want to push Emma away anymore, but pull her in and never stop until they connected like they did before, at the meeting of lips, in the fog of their magic, and in the space where she allowed her heart to want something good and pure with this woman. She wanted the date Emma planned and the laughter and tears and makeup sex that came months – perhaps years – thereafter.

“Emma, you have been effortless in your attempts to keep Henry and I from harm. You are loyal to a fault no matter how many times I argue differently. You are kind and irritating and elegant in your own way and I…”

A strangled sob smothered whatever she was about to promise, despite a wide-eyed Emma being sold from the start. Regina couldn’t know unequivocally how she was going to end that sentence before her mouth insisted on carrying out that privilege.

Her lips met softly with Emma’s. They brushed once, twice, before pressing in to deliver the last of her undertaking. When most if not all the time in the world was taken advantage of, they parted, tasting seven days and seven nights of yearning from their own lips amid lovely long breaths. Their eyes met tentatively. The following response came like a whirlwind.

“Then what’s the problem? We’ll plan a day for just us. Something fun like a walk, or… a movie, or some of that bantering we’re so good at. Let me buy you dinner,” Emma proposed with a shy smile and eyes filled with such promise they misted Regina’s. “A dinner preferably that’s not going to cost me an arm and a leg.”

“Applying restrictions on me so soon, are we?”

“I have to draw the line somewhere. And I think you know now how I feel about overpriced condiments.”

“We will have to educate you on the precise definition of condiment. I hardly think those hot dogs you and Henry insist on eating call for a refined sauce made from basal.”

“It’s all relish to me. And if the pesto is within my salary range I wouldn’t be opposed to putting it on a hot dog.”

“You _are_ joking.” Regina narrowed her eyes and spied the crinkles around Emma’s. “You aren’t, are you?”

“You’ll never know until you go out with me,” Emma sang, casting her eyes up and swinging her body right and left with a touch of whimsy. “Come on, Regina, aren’t you curious to know what it’ll be like in the real world?”

The real world, not a two bedroom apartment. The thought brought on a conflicting blend of thrill and terror. Regina had spent three weeks with this woman and, still, she couldn’t explain how Emma did that.

“I don’t know,” she mused with teasing frown. “I thought that kiss entailed some real world substance.”

Emma’s face burst into joy. The next time she smiled it wasn’t shy, neither were the hands that grabbed for Regina’s.

“Hey!” barked the incarcerated man behind bars. “I’m still here, you know! You can’t just igno – !”

Regina flicked her hand and then returned it to her side without having to break eye contact with Emma.

Leonard Mandrake grew red in face over his hissy fit, striking his fists in the air and letting his spittle fly with his resentment. Emma raised a brow at the scene, noting the faint blue dome blocking what was sure to be an enlightening speech.

_Surely._

“Did you just hit him with the Cone of Silence?” Emma asked curiously if not wholly impressed.

Regina gave an innocent shrug of her shoulder.

“You know,” mused Emma with an emergent grin, “I started to think at the end there that if I ever caught your stalker, some evil part of me wouldn’t have told you. Truthfully, I had kind of grown to like having a pseudo-housewife around. It meant I didn’t have to do as much picking up after myself. And I didn’t have to set foot in the kitchen to get a fabulous meal served to me.”

“I’m glad it didn’t come to that. However,” with a subtle turn of her head and narrowing of her eyes Regina enraptured the woman with her thick drawl, “if it did, part of me – an evil part – would have been enormously proud of your interference. Wicked behavior like that should be rewarded as such.”

“Well then,” Emma stepped forward into Regina’s space, “you might have another stalker on your hands,” she inclined her head and smiled mischievously, “ _as such_.”

“I could say the same thing about you. Haven’t you heard, dear?” Regina leaned in, nearly nose to nose with her pursuer. “I like a good chase.”


End file.
